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I 


^^ 


La  Belle 


l^     Nivernaise 


BY 

ALPHONSE  DAUDET 


HENRY  ALTEMUS  COMPANY 

PHILADELPHIA 


CONTENTS. 


CHAP.  PASK 

I.  A  Eash  Act 5 

II.  The  Belle  Niveenaise 45 

III.  Under  Way 63 

IV.  Life  is  Hard 91 

y.  Maugendre's  Ambitions 127 


ri, 

A 


LA  BELLE  NIVERNAISE 


CHAPTER  I 

A  EASH  ACT 

The  street  Des  Enfants-Rouges  is  in 
tte  Temple  quarter — a  very  narrow 
street,  with  stagnant  gutters  and  pud- 
dles of  black  mud,  with  foul  water  and 
mouldy  smells  pouring  from  its  gaping 
passages.  The  houses  on  each  side  are 
very  lofty,  and  have  barrack-like  win- 
dows, that  show  no  curtains  behind  their 
dirty  panes.  These  are  common  lodg- 
ing-houses, and  dwellings  of  artisans,  of 
day-laborers,  and  of  men  who  work  at 


*€  La  Belle  ^ivernaise. 

their  trade  in  their  own  rooms.     There 
are   shops  on  the  ground  floor  ;   many 
pork-dealers,   wine-retailers,   vendors   of 
chestnuts,     bakers     of     coarse     bread, 
butchers  displaying  viands  of  repulsive 
tmts.      In   this   street  you   see   no   car- 
riages, no    flounced   gowns,  no    elegant 
loungers  on  the  pavement;  but  there  are 
costermongers  crying  the  refuse  of  the 
market-places,   and   a   throng   of  work- 
men crowding  out  of  the  factories  with 
their  blouses  rolled  up  under  their  arms. 
This  is  the  eighth  of  the  month,  the 
day  when  poor  people  pay  their  rents, 
the  day  when  landlords  who  are  tired  of 
w^aiting  any  longer  turn  Want  out  of 
doors.      On   this   day  you   see   removal 
carts  going  past  with  piles  of  iron  bed- 


A  Eash  Act.  9 

steads,  torn  mattresses,  kitchen  utensils, 
and  lame  tables  rearing  up  tlieir  legs  in 
the  air;  and  with  not  even  a  handful  of 
straw  to  pack  the  wretched  things,  dam- 
aged and  worn  out  as  they  are  by  being 
knocked  about  on  dirty  staircases,  and 
tumbled  down  from  attic  to  basement. 

It  is  now  getting  dark,  and  one  after 
another  the  gas-lamps  are  lighted,  and 
send  their  reflections  from  the  gutters 
and  the  shop  windows.  The  passers-by, 
however,  hasten  onward;  for  the  fog 
is  chilly. 

But  there,  in  a  warm,  comfortable 
wine-shop,  is  the  honest  old  bargeman, 
Louveau,  leaning  against  the  counter, 
and  taking  a  friendly  glass  w^ith  the 
joiner  from  La  Yillette.      The  barge- 


10  La  Belle  Xivernaise. 

man's  big,  weather-beaten  face  dilates 
into  a  hearty  laugh,  that  makes  the  cop- 
per rings  in  his  ears  shake  again,  as  he 
exclaims : 

"  So  it's  settled,  friend  Dubac,  that 
yon  take  my  load  of  timber  at  the  price 
I  have  named." 

"  Agreed." 

"  Your  good  health." 

"  Here's  to  yours." 

They  clink  their  glasses  together,  and 
Louveau  drinks  with  his  head  thrown 
back  and  his  eyes  half  closed,  smacking 
his  lips  in  order  to  taste  better  the  flavor 
of  his  white  wine. 

It  can't  be  helped,  look  you,  but  every 
one  has  his  failing;  and  white  wine  is 
the  special  weakness  of  our  friend  Lou- 


A  Rash  Act.  11 

veau.  Not  that  he  is  a  drunkard.  Far 
from  it.  Indeed,  his  wife,  who  is  a 
woman  of  sense,  wonld  not  allow  fud- 
dling; but  when  one  has  to  live  like  our 
bargeman,  with  his  feet  in  the  water, 
and  his  pate  in  the  sun,  it  is  quite  neces- 
sary to  quaff  oif  a  glass  now  and  then. 

Louveau  is  getting  more  and  more 
elated;  and  he  smiles  at  the  shining  zinc 
counter — which  he  now  sees  rather  in- 
distinctly— for  it  brings  to  his  mind  the 
heap  of  new,  bright  coins  he  will  pocket 
to-morrow  when  he  delivers  his  timber. 

After  a  parting  glass,  and  a  shake  of 
the  hands,  our  friends  separate. 

"  To-morrow  without  fail  ?  " 

"  You  may  depend  on  me." 

Louveau,  at  least,  will  not  fail  to  keep 


12  La  Belle  Mvernaise. 

the  appointment.  The  bargain  is  too 
good,  and  has  been  too  hard  driven  for 
him  to  be  behind. 

So  in  high  glee,  onr  bargeman  turns 
down  towards  the  Seine,  rolling  his 
shoulders  and  elbowing  his  way  along, 
with  the  exuberant  delight  of  a  school- 
boy who  has  a  franc  piece  in  his  pocket. 

What  will  mother  Louveau  say — the 
wife  with  a  head-piece — when  she  learns 
that  her  husband  has  sold  his  timber 
right  off,  and  that  at  a  good  profit  ? 
Two  or  three  more  bargains  like  this,  and 
then  they  can  afford  to  buy  a  new  boat 
and  drop  the  Belle  Nivernaise,  for  she  is 
beginning  to  get  much  too  leaky.  !N^ot 
that  she  is  to  blame  for  that,  for  she  was 
a  fine  boat  when  she  was  new;  only,  you 


A  Eash  Act.  13 

see,  everything  gets  old  and  goes  to  de- 
cay ;  and  Lonveau  himself  feels  that 
even  he  is  not  now  as  active  as  when  he 
used  to  assist  in  steering  the  timber-rafts 
on  the  Marne. 

But  what  is  going  on  down  there  ? 
The  gossips  are  collected  before  a  door, 
and  people  are  stopping,  and  engaging 
in  conversation,  while  the  policeman 
standing  in  the  middle  of  the  gathering 
is  writing  something  in  his  note-book. 
Like  everybody  else,  onr  bargeman 
crosses  the  road  to  satisfy  his  curiosity, 
and  see  whether  a  dog  has  been  run 
over,  or  a  vehicle  has  stuck  fast,  or  a 
tipsy  man  has  fallen  into  the  gutter,  or 
what  other  equally  uninteresting  event 
has  occurred.     Something  different  this 


14  La  Belle  Kivernaise. 

time!  A  small  child  with  disordered 
hair,  and  cheeks  all  over  jam,  is  sitting 
on  a  wooden  chair,  rubbing  his  eyes  with 
his  hands,  and  crying.  The  tears  that 
have  streamed  down  his  rather  dirty 
face  have  left  npon  it  fantastically 
shaped  marks.  The  officer  is  question- 
ing the  little  fellow,  with  a  calm  and 
dignified  air,  as  if  he  were  examining  a 
prisoner,  and  he  is  taking  notes  of  the 
answers. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  Totor." 

"  Victor  What  ?  " 

No  answer;  only  the  poor  little  brat 
cried  more,  and  sobbed  "  Mamma  ! 
Mamma  !  " 

At  this  moment,  a  very  plain  and  un- 


A  Rash  Act.  15 

tidv  woman  of  the  laboring  class  was 
passing  by,  dragging  her  two  children 
after  her.  She  advanced  through  the 
gToup,  and  asked  the  police-officer  to 
allow  her  to  try  what  she  conld  do.  She 
knelt  dowTi,  wiped  the  little  fellow's 
nose,  dried  his  eyes,  and  kissed  his  sticky 
cheeks. 

"  What  is  your  mammy's  name,  my 
dear  ?  " 

He  did  not  know.  Then  the  police- 
man addressed  himself  to  one  of  the 
neighbors : 

"  ^ow  you  should  know  something 
about  these  people,  as  you  are  the  door- 
keeper." 

Xo,  he  had  never  heard  their  name, 
and  then  there  were   so  many  tenants 


16  La  Belle  JSTivernaise. 

going  backwards  and  forwards  in  the 
house.  All  that  could  be  ascertained 
was  that  they  had  lived  there  for  a 
month,  that  they  had  never  paid  a  farth- 
ing of  rent,  that  the  landlord  had  just 
turned  them  out,  and  that  it  was  a  good 
riddance. 

"  What  did  they  do  ?  " 

"  Nothing  at  all." 

The  father  and  mother  used  to  spend 
the  da}^  in  drinking,  and  the  evening  in 
fighting.  They  never  agreed  together 
in  anything,  except  in  thrashing  their 
other  children,  two  lads  that  used  to  beg 
in  the  streets,  and  steal  things  there  ex- 
posed for  sale.  A  nice  family,  as  you 
may  believe. 


A  Eash  Act.  17 

"  Do  you  think  they  will  come  to  look 
for  their  child  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  they  will  not." 

The  removal  had,  in  fact,  afforded 
them  an  opportunity  of  abandoning  the 
child.  That  was  not  the  first  time  such 
a  thing  had  happened  on  the  term  days. 

"Did  nobody  see  the  parents  leav- 
ing ?  "  asked  the  policeman. 

Yes !  they  went  away  in  the  morning, 
the  husband  pushing  the  hand-cart, 
while  his  wife  carried  a  package  in  her 
apron,  and  the  two  lads  had  nothing,  but 
their  hands  in  their  pockets. 

The  passers-by,  after  indignantly  ex- 
claiming that  these  people  should  be 
caught,  continued  on  their  way. 

The  poor  little  brat  had  been  there 

2 


18  La  Belle  Nivernaise. 

since  noon,  when  his  mother  had  set  him 
in  the  chair  and  told  him  to  "  be  good/' 
and  all  that  time  he  had  been  waiting. 
But  when  he  began  to  cry  for  hunger, 
the  fruit-w^oman  over  the  way  had  given 
him  a  slice  of  bread  with  jam  on  it. 
This  had  long  ago  been  devoured,  and 
the  little  wretch  was  beginning  to  cry 
again. 

The  poor  innocent,  too,  was  nearly 
dying  with  fear.  He  was  afraid  of  the 
dogs  prowling  round  him — afraid  of  the 
night  that  was  coming  on — -afraid  of  the 
strangers  talking  to  him — and  his  little 
heart  was  beating  violently  in  his 
bosom,  like  that  of  an  expiring  bird. 

As  the  crowd  round  him  continued  to 
increase,  the  police  officer,  tired  of  the 


A  Eash  Act.  19 

scene,  took  the  child  by  the  hand  to  lead 
him  to  the  station. 

"  Come  now  ;  does  anybody  claim 
him  ? '' 

"  Stop  a  moment  !  " 

Every  one  turned  round,  and  saw  a 
great  ruddy  face  wearing  a  silly  smile 
that  extended  from  one  copper-ringed 
ear  to  the  other. 

"Stop  a  minute  !  if  nobody  wants 
him,  I  will  take  him  myself." 

Loud  exclamations  burst  from  the 
crowd:  "Well  done,"—"  That's  right," 
■ — "  You  are  a  good  fellow." 

Old  Louveau,  excited  by  the  white 
wine,  the  success  of  his  bargain,  and  the 
general  approbation,  stood  with  folded 


20  La  Belle  Mvernaise. 

arms  in  the  middle  of  the  admiring 
circle. 

"  Oh,  it's  a  simple  matter." 

Those  who  were  curious  went  on  with 
him  to  the  police  magistrate's,  without 
letting  his  enthusiasm  cool.  When  he 
got  there  he  was  asked  the  questions 
usual  in  such  cases: 

"  Your  name  ?  " 

"  Francis  Louveau,  your  Honor,  a 
married  man,  and  if  I  may  say  so,  well 
married,  to  a  wife  with  a  head-piece. 
And  that  is  lucky  for  me,  your  Honor, 
for  you  see  I  am  not  very  clever  myself, 
ha!  ha!  not  very  clever.  I'm  not  an 
eagle.  ^  Francis  is  not  an  eagle,'  my 
wife  says." 

He   had   never   before   been   so   elo- 


A  Kasli  Act.  21 

quent,  but  now  he  felt  his  tongue  loos- 
ened, and  all  the  assurance  of  a  man 
who  had  just  concluded  a  good  bargain 
— and  who  had  drunk  a  bottle  of  white 
wine. 

"  Your  occupation  ?  " 

"Bargeman,  your  Honor,  master  of 
the  Belle  Nivernaise,  rather  a  rough 
boat,  but  manned  by  a  smartish  crew. 
Ah  !  now  mine  is  a  famous  crew.  .  .  . 
Ask  the  lock-keepers  all  the  way  from 
the  Pont  Marie  to  Clamecy.  .  .  .  Has 
your  Honor  ever  been  there,  at  Cla- 
mecy ? '' 

The  people  about  him  were  smiling, 
but  Louveau  went  on,  spluttering  and 
clipping  short  his  syllables. 

"  Well,  now,  Clamecy  is  a  nice  place. 


22  La  Belle  Nivernaise. 

if  you  like!  It's  wooded  from  top  to 
bottom;  and  with  good  wood,  workable 
wood;  all  the  joiners  know  that.  .  .  . 
It  is  there  I  buy  my  timber.  He !  he !  T 
am  famous  for  my  timber.  I  see  a  thing 
at  a  glance,  look  you !  Not  because  I 
am  clever;  as  my  wife  says,  I  am  by  no 
means  an  eagle:  but  in  fact  I  do  see  a 
thing  at  a  glance.  .  .  .  For  instance, 
now,  I  take  a  tree  as  thick  as  you — ask- 
ing your  Honor's  pardon — and  I  lap  a 
string  round  it,  this  way.   ..." 

He  had  drawn  a  cord  from  his  pocket, 
and  seizing  hold  of  the  officer  standing 
by,  had  encircled  him  with  it. 

The  officer  struggled  to  disentangle 
himself: 

"  Please  leave  me  alone." 


A  Rash  Act.  23 

"  Yes.  .  .  yes.  .  .  I  want  to  show 
his  Honor  how  I  pass  the  string  round 
it,  and  then  when  I  have  the  girth,  I 
multiply  it  by  ...  I  multiply  by  .  .  . 
I  forget  now  what  I  multiply  by  .  .  . 
My  wife  does  the  calculation.  She  has 
a  good  head-piece,  has  my  wife." 

The  audience  was  highly  amused,  and 
the  magistrate  himself  could  not  refrain 
from  smiling  behind  his  table.  When 
the  laughter  had  subsided  a  little,  he 
asked : 

"What  will  you  make  of  this  child?" 

"  Certainly  not  a  gentleman.  We 
have  never  had  a  gentleman  in  our 
family.  But  he  shall  be  a  bargeman,  a 
smart  barge  lad,  like  the  rest." 

"  Have  you  any  children  ?  " 


24  La  Belle  Mvernaise. 

"  I  should  think  I  have !  I  have  one 
able  to  walk,  another  at  the  breast,  and 
there  is  a  third  one  coming.  That's  not 
so  bad,  is  it,  for  a  man  who  is  not  an 
eagle  ?  With  this  one  there  will  be 
four;  but  pooh!  where  there  is  enough 
for  three,  there  is  enough  for  four. 
Packed  a  little  closer,  that's  all.  One 
must  pull  one's  belt  a  little  tighter  and 
try  to  get  more  for  one's  wood." 

And  his  laughter  again  shook  the  ear- 
rings, as  he  turned  a  complacent  look  on 
those  present. 

A  big  book  was  put  before  him,  but 
as  he  could  not  write  he  had  to  sign  with 
a  cross. 

The  magistrate  thereupon  gave  the 
lost  child  up  to  him. 


A  Rash  Act.  25 

"  Take  the  little  fellow  away,  Francis 
Louveau,  and  mind  you  bring  him  np 
well.  If  any  inquiries  are  made  about 
him,  I  will  let  you  know.  But  it  is  not 
likely  that  his  parents  will  ever  claim 
him.  As  for  you,  you  seem  to  be  an 
honest  man,  and  I  have  confidence  in 
you.  Always  be  guided  by  your  wife; 
and  now  good-bye,  and  don't  you  take 
too  much  white  wine." 

A  dark  night,  a  cold  fog,  a  lot  of  un- 
concerned people  hurrying  away  home 
— that  all  tends  to  quickly  bring  a  man 
to  his  senses. 

Hardly  had  our  bargeman  got  into 
the  street  by  himself,  leading  by  the 
hand  the  child  he  had  taken  under  his 
care,   and  carrying   his   stamped   docu- 


26  La  Belle  Nivernaise. 

ment  in  his  pocket,  than  he  felt  his  en- 
thusiasm suddenly  cool  down  and  he  be- 
came aware  of  the  serious  import  of  his 
act. 

Is  he  then  always  to  be  like  this  ? 
Always  to  be  a  simpleton  and  a  brag- 
gart ?  Why  could  not  he  go  on  his  way 
like  other  people  without  meddling  in 
what  did  not  concern  him  ? 

Now,  for  the  first  time,  he  pictured  to 
himself  the  wrath  of  mother  Louveau. 
Just  fancy  the  kind  of  reception  he  wall 
meet  with  ! 

What  a  dreadful  thing  it  is  for  a  sim- 
ple, kind-hearted  man  to  have  a  shrewd 
wife!  He  would  never  have  the  cour- 
age to  go  home,  and  yet  he  dared  not  go 


27 


A  Eash  Act.  29 

back  to  the  police  magistrate's.  What- 
ever should  he  do  ? 

They  went  on  through  the  fog,  Lou- 
veau  gesticulating  and  talking  to  him- 
self.    He  was  getting  a  speech  ready. 

Victor  was  dragging  his  shoes  in  the 
mud  and  letting  himself  be  pulled  along 
like  a  dead  weight.  At  length,  he  could 
go  no  farther,  and  then  Louveau 
stopped,  lifted  him  up  and  carried  him, 
wrapping  his  overall  round  him.  The 
twining  of  the  little  arms  round  his  neck 
caused  our  bargeman  to  resume  his  jour- 
ney with  a  rather  better  heart. 

Faith,  bad  as  it  was,  he  would  run  the 
risk.  If  mother  Louveau  turned  them 
out,  there  would  still  be  time  to  carry 
the  little  brat  back  to  the  police-office; 


30  La  Belle  Mvernaise. 

but  if  she  would  keep  him  only  for  one 
night,  he  would  be  the  gainer  by  a  good 
meal. 

They  came  to  the  Bridge  of  Auster- 
litz,  where  the  Belle  Nivernaise  was 
moored,  and  the  faint,  pleasant  odor 
from  the  loads  of  newly-cnt  wood  filled 
the  night  air.  A  whole  fleet  of  boats 
was  rocking  in  the  dark  shade  of  the 
river's  bank,  and  the  movement  of  the 
water  made  the  lamps  swing  and  the 
chains  grate  together. 

To  get  to  his  boat,  Louveau  had  to 
pass  over  two  lighters  connected  by 
planks.  He  Avent  on  with  timid  steps 
and  trembling  limbs,  hampered  by  the 
hug  of  the  child's  arms  about  his  neck. 

The   night  was   extremely   dark,  [ind 


31 


A  Rash  Act.  33 

the  only  signs  of  life  about  the  Belle 
Nivernaise  were  the  little  lamp  shining 
in  the  cabin  window,  and  the  ray  of 
light  that  found  its  way  beneath  the 
door. 

Mother  Louveau's  voice  was  heard 
chiding  the  children,  while  she  was 
cooking  the  evening  meal: 

"  Be  quiet,  Clara  !  " 

It  was  now  too  late  for  retreat,  and 
the  bargeman  pushed  the  door  open. 
Mother  Louveau  had  her  back  towards 
it,  and  was  leaning  over  her  frying-pan, 
but  she  knew  his  footstep,  and  without 
turning  round,  said: 

"  Is  it  you,  Francis  ?  How  late  you 
are  in  getting  back  !  " 

The  frying  potatoes    were    dancing 


34  La  Belle  Mvernaise. 

about  in  the  crackling  oil;  and  as  the 
steam  from  the  pan  passed  towards  the 
open  door,  it  dimmed  the  panes  of  the 
cabin  windows. 

Francis  had  put  the  poor  brat  on  the 
floor,  and  the  little  fellow,  impressed  by 
the  warmth  of  the  place,  and  feeling  his 
reddened  fingers  restored  to  animation, 
smiled  and  said  in  a  rather  soft  and 
sweet  voice: 

"  Warm  here.   .   .   ." 

Mother  Louveau  turned  round,  and, 
pointing  to  the  ragged  child  standing  in 
the  middle  of  the  room,  asked  her  hus- 
band in  angry  tones: 

"  What  is  that  ? '' 

But  even  in  the  best  of  households 
there  are  such  moments. 


A  Eash  Act.  35 

"  A  surprise  for  you,  lie !  tie !  a  sur- 
prise." 

The  bargeman  grinned  from  ear  to 
ear,  in  order  to  keep  himself  in  counte- 
nance; but  be  very  much  wished  that  he 
was  still  in  the  street.  However,  as  his 
wife  was  waiting  for  an  explanation, 
and  glaring  at  him  with  a  dreadful  look, 
he  faltered  out  his  story  in  a  jumbled 
way,  with  the  supplicating  eyes  of  a  dog 
threatened  with  the  whip. 

His  parents  had  abandoned  him,  and 
he  had  found  him  crying  on  the  pave- 
ment. Some  one  had  asked  if  anybody 
would  take  him.  He  said  he  would. 
And  the  police  magistrate  had  told  him 
he  might  take  him  away. 

"  Didn't  he,  my  child  ? " 


36  La  Belle  IN^ivernaise. 

Then  the  storm  burst  -upon  him: 

"  Yon  are  mad,  or  drnnk  !  Did  ever 
any  one  hear  tell  of  such  a  piece  of 
folly!  I  suppose  you  want  us  to  die  of 
starvation  ?  Do  you  think  we  are  too 
well  off  ?  That  we  have  too  much  to 
eat  ?     Too  much  room  to  lie  in  ?  " 

Francis  contemplated  his  shoes  with- 
out answering  a  word. 

"  Think  of  yourself,  you  wretch,  and 
think  of  us  !  Your  boat  is  holed  like 
my  skimmer,  and  yet  you  must  go  and 
amuse  yourself  by  picking  up  other  peo- 
ple's children  out  of  the  gutter  !  " 

But  the  poor  fellow  knew  all  that  too 
well  already,  and  did  not  attempt  to 
deny  it.      He   bowed   his   head  like   a 


A  EasL  Act.  37 

criminal  listening  to  tlie  statement  of 
his  guilt. 

"  Yon  will  do  me  the  favor  of  taking 
that  child  back  to  the  police  magistrate, 
and  if  any  objections  are  made  about  re- 
ceiving him  back  again,  you  must  say 
that  your  wife  won't  have  him.  Do  you 
understand  ? " 

She  advanced  toward  him,  pan  in 
hand,  with  a  threatening  gesture,  and 
the  bargeman  promised  to  do  all  she 
wished. 

"  Come,  now,  don't  get  vexed.  I 
thought  I  was  doing  right.  I  have  made 
a  mistake.  That's  enough.  Must  he  be 
taken  back  at  once  ?  " 

Her  good  man's  submission  softened 
mother  Louveau's  heart.     Perhaps,  also, 


38  La  Belle  E'ivernaise. 

there  arose  in  lier  mind  the  vision  of  a 
child  of  her  own,  lost  and  alone  at  night, 
stretching  ont  its  hands  towards  the 
passers-by. 

She  turned  to  put  her  pan  on  the  fire, 
and  said  in  a  testy  tone: 

"  It  cannot  be  done  to-night,  for  the 
office  is  closed.  And  now  that  you  have 
brought  him,  you  cannot  set  him  down 
again  on  the  pavement.  He  shall  re- 
main to-night;  but  to-morrow  morn- 
ing.  .   ." 

Mother  Louveau  was  so  enraged  that 
she  poked  the  fire  first  with  one  hand 
and  then  with  the  other. 

^'  But  I  vow  that  to-morrow  you  shall 
rid  me  of  him !  " 

There  was  silence. 


A  Eash  Act.  39 

The  housewife  laid  the  table  sav- 
agely, knocking  the  glasses  together,  and 
dashing  the  forks  down.  Clara  was 
frightened,  and  kept  very  quiet  in  one 
corner. 

The  baby  was  whining  on  the  bed, 
and  the  lost  child  was  looking  with 
wonder  at  the  cinders  in  the  stove  get- 
ting red  hot.  Perhaps  he  had  never 
seen  a  iire  in  all  his  life  before. 

There  was,  however,  another  pleasure 
in  store  for  him,  wdien  he  vv^as  put  to  the 
table  with  a  napkin  round  his  neck,  and 
a  heap  of  potatoes  on  his  plate.  He  ate 
like  a  robin-redbreast  picking  crumbs  off 
the  snow. 

Mother  Louveau  helped  him  furiously, 
but  at  heart  she  was  a  little  bit  touched 


40  La  Belle  Mvernaise. 

by  the  appetite  of  the  starved  child.  Lit- 
tle Clara  was  delighted,  and  stroked  him 
with  her  spoon.  Louveau  was  dismayed 
and  dared  not  lift  an  eye. 

When  she  had  removed  the  table 
things  and  put  her  children  to  bed, 
mother  Louveau  seated  herself  near  the 
fire,  and  took  the  child  between  her 
knees  to  give  him  a  little  wash. 

"We  can't  put  him  to  bed  in  that 
dirty  state." 

I  lay  he  had  never  before  seen  either 
sponge  or  comb.  Under  her  hands  the 
poor  child  twirled  round  like  a  top. 

But  when  once  he  had  been  washed 
and  tidied  up,  the  little  lad  did  not  look 
bad,  with  his  pink  poodle-like  nose,  and 
hands  as  plump  as  rosy  apples. 


A  Rash  Act.  41 

Mother  Louveau  looked  upoii  her 
•work  with  a  certain  degree  of  satisfac- 
tion. 

"  I  wonder  how  old  he  is  ?  " 

Francis  laid  down  his  pipe,  delighted 
once  more  to  be  an  actor  in  the  scene. 
This  was  the  first  time  he  had  been 
spoken  to  all  the  evening,  and  a  ques- 
tion addressed  to  him  was  almost  like  a 
recall  to  grace.  He  rose  up  and  drew 
his  cords  from  his  pocket. 

"How  old?  He!  he!  ril  tell  you  in 
a  minute." 

He  took  the  little  fellow  in  his  arms, 
and  wound  lines  round  him  as  he  did 
to  the  tree  at  Clamecy. 

Mother  Louveau  looked  on  with 
amazement. 


42  La  Belle  Mvernaise. 

"  "Whatever  are  you  doing  ?  " 
"  I  am  taking  his  dimensions.'' 
She  snatched  the  cord  from  his  hands, 
and  flung  it  to  the  other    end    of    the 
apartment. 

"  Mv  good  man,  how  silly  you  make 
yourself  with  these  mad  tricks!  The 
child  is  not  a  young  tree." 

Iso  chance  for  you,  this  evening,  poor 
Francis!  Quite  abashed  he  beats  a  re- 
treat, whilst  mother  Louveau  puts  the 
little  one  to  bed  in  Clara's  cot. 

The  little  girl  is  sleeping  with  closed 
hands  and  taking  up  all  the  room.  She 
is  vaguely  conscious  that  something  is 
put  beside  her,  stretches  out  her  arms, 
pushes  her  neighbor  into  a  corner,  digs 


A  Rasli  Act.  43 

her  elbows  into  his  eyes,  turns  over  and 
goes  to  sleep  again. 

-  In  the  meantime  the  lamp  has  been 
blown  out,  and  the  Seine  rippling  round 
the  boat  gently  rocks  the  wooden  habita- 
tion. 

The  poor  cold  child  feels  a  gentle 
warmth  steal  over  him,  and  he  falls 
asleep  with  the  new  sensation  of  som^e- 
thing  like  a  caressing  hand  npon  his 
head,  just  as  his  eyes  are  closing. 


CHAPTEE  II 

THE    BELLE    NIVERNAISE 

Mademoiselle  Claka  used  always  to 
awake  early,  and  this  morning  she  was 
surprised  at  not  seeing  her  mother  in  the 
cabin,  and  at  finding  another  head  on 
the  pillow  beside  her.  She  rubbed  her 
eyes  with  her  little  fingers,  then  took 
hold  of  her  bedfellow  by  the  hair  and 
shook  him. 

Poor  "  Totor "  was  roused  by  the 
strangest  sensations,  for  roguish  fingers 
were  teasing  him  by  tickling  his  neck 
and  seizing  hold  of  his  nose. 

He  cast  his  wondering  eyes  round 
about  him,  and  was  quite  surprised  that 


46  La  Belle  Mvernaise. 

his  dream  still  continued.  Above  them 
there  was  a  creaking  of  footsteps,  and  a 
rumbling  sound  caused  bj  the  unload- 
ing of  the  planks  upon  the  quay. 

Mademoiselle  Clara  feeemed  greatly 
perplexed.  She  pointed  her  little  finger 
to  the  ceiling  with  a  gesture  that  seemed 
to  ask  her  friend: 

"  What  is  that  ? '' 

It  was  the  delivery  of  the  wood  be- 
ginning. Dubac,  the  joiner  from  La 
Yillette,  had  come  at  six  o'clock  with  his 
horse  and  cart,  and  Louveau  had  very 
quickly  set  to  work,  with  a  hitherto  un- 
known ardor. 

The  good  fellow  had  not  closed  an  eye 
all  night  for  thinking  that  he  would 
have  to  take  that  child,  who  had  been  so 


47 


The  Belle  Xivernaise.  49 

cold  and  hungry,  back  to  the  police- 
magistrate. 

He  expected  to  have  a  scene  in  the 
morning  again ;  bnt  mother  Lonvean  had 
some  other  notions  in  her  head,  for  she 
did  not  mention  Victor  to  him;  and 
Francis  thought  that  much  might  be 
gained  by  postponing  the  time  for  ex- 
planations. 

He  was  striving  to  efface  himself,  and 
to  escape  from  his  wife's  view,  and  he 
was  Avorking  with  all  his  might,  lest 
mother  Louveau  should  see  him  idle,  and 
should  call  out  to  him: 

"  Come  now,  as  you  have  nothing  to 
do,  take  the  little  boy  back  where  you 
found  him." 

And  he  did  work.     The  pile  of  planks 


50  La  Belle  Mvernaise. 

was  visibly  diminishing.  Dubac  bad 
already  made  three  journeys,  and  mother 
Lonveau,  standing  on  the  gangway  with 
her  nursling  on  her  arm,  had  her  time 
fnlly  taken  up  counting  the  lots  as  they 
passed. 

Working  with  a  will,  Francis  selected 
for  his  burdens  rafters  as  long  as  masts 
and  as  thick  as  walls.  If  the  beam  were 
too  heavy,  he  called  the  Crew  to  help 
him  to  load. 

The  Crew  was  a  boatman  with  a 
wooden  leg,  and  he  alone  formed  the 
personal  equipment  of  the  Belle  Niver- 
naise.  He  had  been  picked  up  from 
charity,  and  retained  from  habit. 

This  maimed  one  would  prop  himself 
up  on  his  peg,  or  raise  up  the  log  with 


The  Belle  Mvernaise.  51 

great  effort,  and  Loiiveau,  bending  be- 
neath the  load,  with  his  belt  tight  round 
his  waist,  would  pass  slowly  over  the 
movable  bridge. 

How  could  a  man  so  busily  occupied 
be  interrupted  in  his  work?  Mother 
Louveau  could  not  think  of  it.  She 
went  up  and  down  on  the  gangway,  in- 
tent only  on  Mimile  who  was  at  her 
breast. 

He  was  always  thirsty,  that  Mimile, 
like  his  father.  But  Louveau,  thirsty  ? 
...  he  certainly  was  not  so  to-day.  He 
had  been  working  since  morning,  and 
the  question  of  white  wine  had  never 
been  raised.  He  had  not  even  taken 
breathing  time,  or  wiped  his  brow,  or 
drunk  a  drop  at  the  edge  of  a  counter. 


62  La  Belle  I^ivernaise. 

Even  when,  after  a  little,  Dubac  pro- 
posed to  go  and  have  a  glass,  Francis 
heroically  replied: 

"We  shall  have  time  later  on." 

Eefuse  a  glass!  the  housewife  could 
not  understand  it  at  all;  this  could  not 
be  her  Louveau,  but  must  be  some  sub- 
stitute. 

Her  Clara  now  seems  a  changeling 
also,  for  eleven  o'clock  has  struck,  and 
the  little  girl,  who  would  never  remain 
in  bed,  has  not  stirred  the  whole  morn- 
ing. 

Mother  Louveau  hastens  into  the 
cabin  to  see  what  is  going  on.  Francis 
remains  on  deck,  swinging  his  arms,  and 
gasping  for  breath,  as  if  he  had  just  re- 
ceived in  his  stomach  a  blow  from  a  joist. 


The  Belle  Mvernaise.  53 

"Now  for  it!  His  wife  has  bethought 
herself  of  Victor;  she  is  going  to  bring 
him  on  deck,  and  he  must  start  for  the 
police  office.  .  .  .  But  no;  mother  Lou- 
veau  reappears  all  alone.  She  is  laugh- 
ing and  she  beckons  to  him : 

"Just  come  and  look  here,  it  is  so 
funny  !  " 

The  good  man  cannot  understand  this 
sudden  hilarity,  and  he  follows  her  like 
an  automaton,  the  fulness  of  his  emo- 
tion almost  depriving  him  of  the  use  of 
his  legs. 

The  two  monkeys  were  sitting  on  the 
edge  of  the  bed,  in  their  shirts,  and  with 
bare  feet.  They  had  possessed  them- 
selves of  the  bowl  of  soup  that  the 
mother  left  within  reach  of  their  little 


54  La  Belle  IvTivernaise. 

arms  when  slie  got  up.  As  there  was 
only  one  spoon  for  the  tAvo  months,  t^ey 
were  cramming  each  other  in  tnrns,  like 
fledglings  in  a  nest;  and  Clara,  who 
used  always  to  be  averse  to  taking  her 
soup,  was  laughing  and  stretching  out 
her  mouth  for  the  spoon.  Although 
some  crumbs  of  bread  might  have  got 
into  eyes  or  ears,  the  two  babies  had 
broken  nothing,  had  upset  nothing,  and 
they  were  amusing  themselves  so  heart- 
ily that  it  was  impossible  to  find  fault 
with  them. 

Mother  Louveau  continued  to  laugh. 

"As  they  are  agreeing  so  well  as  that, 
we  need  not  trouble  ourselves  about 
them." 

Francis  immediately  returned  to  his 


The  Belle  Mvernaise.  55 

work,  quite  delighted  with  the  turn 
things  were  taking. 

Usually,  at  the  unloading  time,  he 
would  take  a  rest  during  the  day;  that 
is  to  say,  he  would  go  the  round  of  all 
the  bargemen's  taverns,  from  the  Point- 
du-Jour  to  the  Quai  de  Bercy.  So  that 
the  unloading  used  to  drag  on  for  a 
whole  week,  during  which  mother  Lou- 
veau's  wrath  would  continue  unap- 
peased. 

But  this  time  there  was  no  idleness, 
no  white  wine,  but  a  passionate  desire  to 
do  well  by  ardent  and  sustained  labor. 

On  his  part  the  little  fellow,  as  if  he 
understood  that  his  cause  must  be  won, 
was  doing  all  that  he  possibly  could  to 
amuse  Clara. 


56  La  Belle  Nivernaise. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life,  this  lit- 
tle girl  passed  a  whole  day  without  tears, 
without  dashing  herself  about,  without 
making  holes  in  her  stockings.  Her 
companion  amused  her,  soothed  her.  He 
was  always  willing  to  make  a  sacrifice  of 
his  hair  to  stop  Clara's  tears  on  the  edges 
of  her  eyelids. 

And  she  tugged  at  her  big  friend's 
rough  poll  by  handfuls,  teasing  him  like 
a  pug-dog  nipping  a  poodle. 

Mother  Louveau  observed  all  this 
from  a  distance,  and  inwardly  remarked 
that  this  child  was  just  as  useful  as  a  lit- 
tle nurse.  So  they  might  keep  Victor 
until  the  unloading  was  finished.  There 
would  be  time  to  take  him  back  after- 
wards,  just  before  their  departure. 


The  Belle  JSTivernaise.  57 

For  this  reason,  she  did  not  that  even- 
ing make  any  allusion  to  sending  him 
back,  but  gorged  him  with  potatoes,  and 
put  him  to  bed  as  on  the  night  before. 

One  would  have  thought  that  Lou- 
veau's  little  friend  w^as  a  member  of  the 
family,  and  to  see  the  way  Clara  put  her 
arm  round  his  neck  as  she  went  to  sleep, 
would  lead  one  to  suppose  that  she  had 
taken  him  under  her  special  protection. 

The  unloading  of  the  Belle  Nivernaise 
lasted  three  days.  Three  days  of  im- 
petuous labor,  w^ithout  any  relaxation, 
without  any  break.  About  midday  the 
last  cart  was  laden  and  the  boat  was 
empty. 

They  could  not  take  the  tug  until  the 
morrow,  and  Francis  passed  the  whole 


58  La  Belle  Mvernaise. 

day  between  decks,  repairing  the  planks, 
but  still  haunted  by  those  words  that  for 
three  days  had  been  ringing  in  his  ears: 

"  Take  him  back  to  the  police-magis- 
trate." 

Ah!  that  magistrate!  He  was  not 
more  dreaded  in  the  house  of  wicked  Mr. 
Punch  than  he  was  in  the  cabin  of  the 
Belle  Nivernaise.  He  had  become  a 
kind  of  bogle  that  mother  Louveau 
availed  herself  of  to  keep  Clara  quiet. 

Every  time  she  pronounced  that  name 
of  fear,  the  little  fellow  fixed  upon  her 
the  restless  eyes  of  a  child  who  has  too 
early  had  experience  of  suffering. 

He  vaguely  understood  all  that  this 
word  meant  of  dangers  to  come.  The 
magistrate  !     That    meant     no      more 


The  Belle  ]^ivernaise.  59 

Clara,  no  more  caresses,  no  more 
warmth,  no  more  potatoes;  but  a  return 
to  a  cheerless  life,  to  days  without  bread, 
to  slumbers  without  bed,  to  awakening 
in  the  morning  without  kisses. 

How  he  therefore  clung  to  mother 
Louveau's  skirts  on  the  eve  of  the  boat's 
departure! — when  Francis,  in  a  trem- 
bling voice,  asked : 

"  Come  now,  shall  we  take  him  back, 
yes  or  no  ?  " 

Mother  Louveau  did  not  answer.  You 
would  even  fancy  she  was  thinking  of 
some  pretext  for  keeping  Victor. 

As  for  Clara,  she  rolled  on  the  floor, 
choking  with  sobs,  and  determined  to 
have  convulsions  if  she  were  separated 
from  her  friend. 


60  La  Belle  Mvernaise. 

Then  the  wife  with  a  head-piece  spoke 
seriously: 

"  My  good  man,  you  have  done  a  fool- 
ish act,  as  usual.  And  now  you  have  to 
pay  for  it.  This  child  has  become  at- 
tached to  us,  Clara  is  fond  of  him,  and 
every  one  would  be  grieved  to  see  him 
leave.  I  am  going  to  try  and  keep  him, 
but  I  will  have  each  one  to  bear  a  part. 
The  first  time  that  Clara  works  herself 
up  into  a  fit  of  passion,  or  that  you  get 
drunk,  I  shall  take  him  back  to  the 
police-magistrate's." 

Old  Louveau  became  radiant. 

It  was  done.  He  would  drink  no 
more. 

He  smiled  right  up  to  his  ear-rings 
and  sang  away  as  he  coiled  his  cable  on 


The  Belle  Xivernaise.  61 

the  deck,  whilst  the  tug  towed  along  the 
Belle  Nivernaise  together  with  quite  a 
fleet  of  other  boats. 


CHAPTEE  III 

UNDER   WAY 

Victor  was  under  way.  Under  way 
for  the  suburban  country,  where  the 
water  mirrors  little  houses  and  green  gar- 
dens— under  way  for  the  white  land  of 
the  chalk  hills — under  way  beside  the 
flagged,  resounding  towing-paths — un- 
der way  for  the  uplands,  for  the  canal  of 
the  Yonne,  slumbering  within  its  locks 
— under  way  for  the  verdure  of  winter,, 
and  for  the  woods  of  Morvan. 

Francis  leant  against  the  tiller  of  his 
boat,  firm  in  his  resolution  not  to  drink, 
and  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  the  invitations- 
of  the  lock-keepers,   and  of  the  wine- 


64  La  Belle  Nivernaise. 

dealers,  who  were  astonished  to  see  him 
passing  free.  He  was  obliged  to  cling 
to  the  tiller  to  keep  the  Belle  Nivernaise 
from  going  alongside  of  the  taverns. 
The  old  boat,  from  the  time  she  had 
made  the  same  voyage,  seemed  as  if  she 
knew  the  stations,  and  wanted  to  stop  at 
them  of  her  own  accord,  like  an  omnibus 
horse. 

The  Crew  was  perched  on  one  leg  in 
the  prow,  where,  handling  an  immense 
boat-hook  in  a  melancholy  way,  he 
pushed  back  the  bushes,  rounded  the 
turns,  and  grappled  the  locks. 

It  was  not  much  work  he  used  to  do, 
although  the  noise  of  his  w^ooden  leg  on 
the  deck  might  be  heard  day  and  night. 

Resigned   and  silent,  he   was  one   of 


Under  Way.  67 

those  for  whom  everything  in  life  had 
gone  wrong.  A  school-fellow  had  caused 
him  the  loss  of  an  eye;  an  axe  had  lamed 
him  at  the  saw-mill;  a  vat  had  scalded 
him  at  the  sugar  refinery.  , 

He  would  have  been  a  beggar  dying 
of  hunger  at  the  edge  of  a  ditch,  if  Lou- 
veau — who  always  saw  a  thing  at  a 
glance — had  not,  as  he  was  coming  out 
of  the  hospital,  engaged  him  to  help  in 
working  the  boat. 

This  was,  at  the  time,  the  occasion  of 
a  great  quarrel — exactly  as  for  Victor. 
The  wife  with  a  head-piece  was  vexed, 
whereupon  Louveau  gave  in. 

In  the  end,  the  Crew  remained,  and  at 
this  time  he  formed  part  of  the  house- 


68  La  Belle  Nivernaise. 

iiold  of  the  Belle  Nivernaise,  on  the 
same  footing  as  the  cat  and  the  raven. 

Old  Lonveau  steered  so  exactly,  and 
the  Crew  worked  the  boat  so  well,  that 
a/ter  having  ascended  the  river  and  the 
canals,  the  Belle  Nivernaise,  twelve 
days  after  her  departure  from  Paris,  got 
moored  at  the  bridge  of  Corbigny,  there 
to  rest  peacefully  in  her  winter  sleep. 

From  December  to  the  end  of  Febru- 
ary, the  bargemen  make  no  voyages,  but 
repair  their  boats,  and  look  through  the 
forests  to  buy  the  spring  cuttings  as 
they  stand. 

As  wood  is  cheap,  they  keep  good  fires 
in  the  cabins;  and  if  the  autumn  sale  has 
been  successful,  this  idle  time  is  made 
into  a  very  enjoyable  holiday. 


Under  Way.  69 

The  Belle  Nivernaise  was  laid  up  for 
wintering;  that  is  to  say,  the  rudder  was 
detached,  the  jury-mast  was  stowed 
away  between  decks,  and  the  whole 
space  was  clear  for  playing  and  running 
about  on  the  upper  deck. 

What  a  change  in  his  life  for  the 
foundling!  During  all  the  voyage,  he 
had  continued  in  a  state  of  astonishment 
and  fear.  He  was  like  a  cage  bird  sur- 
prised by  being  set  free,  that  in  the  sud- 
denness of  the  change,  forgets  its  song 
and  its  wings.  Though  too  young  to 
enjoy  the  charms  of  the  landscape 
spread  before  his  eyes,  he  had  neverthe- 
less been  impressed  by  the  grandeur  of 
that  passage  up  the  river  between  two 
ever-changing  horizons. 


TO  La  Belle  Nivernaise. 

Mother  Loiiveau,  seeing  him  shy  and 
silent,  kept  on  all  day  saying: 

"  He  is  deaf  and  dumb/' 

But  the  little  Parisian  from  the  Tem- 
ple district  was  not  dumb!  When  he 
got  to  understand  that  he  was  not  dream- 
ing, that  he  should  no  more  go  back  to 
his  garret,  and  that,  in  spite  of  mother 
Louveau's  threats,  there  was  really  not 
much  to  fear  from  the  police-magistrate, 
his  tongue  was  loosed.  It  was  like  the 
blossoming  of  a  plant  grown  in  a  cellar 
and  then  put  upon  a  window  shelf.  He 
ceased  to  cower  timidly  down  in  corners 
like  a  hunted  ferret.  His  eyes,  deeply 
set  under  his  projecting  brow,  lost  their 
uneasy  restlessness,  and  although  he  re- 


Under  Way.  71 

mained  rather  pale  and  had  a  thought- 
ful look,  he  learned  to  laugh  with  Clara. 

The  little  girl  passionately  loved  her 
play-fellow,  as  people  do  love  each  other 
at  that  age — for  the  pleasure  of  falling 
out  and  making  it  up  again.  Although 
she  was  as  self-willed  as  a  little  donkey, 
she  had  a  very  tender  heart,  and  the 
mention  of  the  magistrate  was  enough 
to  make  her  do  as  she  was  bid. 

They  had  hardly  arrived  at  Corbigny, 
when  another  sister  came  into  the  world. 
Mimile  was  just  eighteen  months  old, 
and  that  made  cots  enough  in  the  cabin 
— and  work  enough  likewise;  for,  with 
all  the  encumbrances  they  had,  they 
could  not  afford  a  servant. 

Mother   Louveau  grumbled  so  much 


72  La  Belle  Mvernaise. 

that  the  Crew's  wooden  leg  quaked  with 
fear.  But  nobody  in  the  place  had  any 
pity  for  her.  Even  the  peasants  did  not 
hesitate  to  say  what  they  thought  about 
it  to  the  priest,  who  used  to  hold  lip  the 
bargeman  as  a  pattern. 

"  Say  what  your  Reverence  likes, 
there's  no  common  sense  in  a  man  who 
has  three  children  of  his  own  picking  up 
those  of  other  people.  But  the  Lou- 
veaus  have  always  been  like  that.  They 
are  full  of  vanity  and  conceit,  and  no 
advice  you  can  give  them  will  alter 
them." 

People  did  not  wish  them  ill,  but  were 
not  sorry  they  had  got  a  lesson. 

The  vicar  was  a  kind,  well-meaning 
man,  who  easily  adopted  the  opinions  of 


Under  Way.  Y3 

others,  and  always  wound  up  by  recol- 
lecting some  passage  of  Scripture,  or 
sentence  from  the  Fathers,  with  which 
to  keep  his  own  mind  easy  about  his 
sudden  turns  and  changes. 

"  My  parishioners  are  right,"  said  he 
to  himself,  as  he  passed  his  hand  under 
his  badly  shaven  chin,  "  we  must  not 
tempt  divine  Providence." 

But  as  the  Louveaus  were,  on  the 
whole,  good  honest  people,  he  made  his 
pastoral  call  on  them  as  usual. 

He  found  mother  Louveau  cutting 
breeches  for  Victor  out  of  an  old  jacket, 
for  the  little  brat  had  brought  no  clothes 
with  him,  and  she  could  not  bear  rags 
and  tatters  about  her. 

She  placed  a  seat  for  his  Reverence, 


74  La  Belle  Mvernaise. 

and  when  he  spoke  to  her  about  Victor, 
hinting  that  with  the  influence  of  the 
Bishop  they  might  perhaps  get  him  into 
the  orphanage  at  Autun,  mother  Lou- 
veau  who  would  speak  her  mind  to 
everybody,  abruptly  answered: 

"  The  little  fellow  may  be  a  burden  to 
poor  folks  like  us,  certainly;  I  think  that 
when  he  brought  him  home,  Francis 
gave  one  more  proof  that  he  is  not  an 
eagle.  I  am  not  harder  hearted  than  my 
husband;  if  I  had  met  Victor,  I  should 
have  been  sorry  for  him,  but  yet  I  would 
have  left  him  where  he  was.  But  now 
that  we  have  taken  him,  it  is  not  in  or- 
der to  get  rid  of  him;  and  if  we  should 
some  day  find  ourselves  in  a  difficulty 


Under  Way.  75 

through  him,  we  shall  not  go  and  ask 
charity  from  anybody." 

At  this  moment  Victor  came  into  the 
cabin  with  Mimile  in  his  arms. 

The  little  monkey,  angry  at  having 
been  weaned,  was  seeking  his  revenge  by 
refusing  to  be  set  down,  and  w^as  show- 
ing his  teeth  and  biting  everybody. 

Touched  by  this  sight,  the  vicar  put 
his  hand  on  the  foundling's  head  and 
gravely  remarked : 

"  God's  blessing  is  on  large  families." 
And  away  he  went,   delighted  with 
himself  for  having  recollected  a  sentence 
so  appropriate  to  the  situation. 

Mother  Louveau  but  told  the  truth 
when  she  said  that  Victor  was  now  one 
of  the  family. 


*r6  La  Belle  Mvernaise. 

While  continually  grumbling,  and 
talking  about  taking  the  little  fellow 
back  to  the  police-magistrate's,  this 
woman  with  a  head-piece  was  getting  to 
like  the  pale-faced  child  that  clung  so 
persistently  to  her  skirts. 

When  old  Louveau  thought  they  were 
making  too  much  of  him,  she  always  re- 
plied: 

"  Then  you  should  not  have  taken 
him." 

As  soon  as  he  was  eight  years  of  age, 
she  sent  him  to  school  with  Clara. 

Victor  would  always  carry  the  books 
and  the  basket.  He  would  fight  bravely 
in  defending  their  luncheon  against  the 
unscrupulous  appetites  of  the  young 
Morvandians. 


Under  Way.  Y7 

Nor  did  he  show  less  spirit  in  his  work 
than  in  his  fighting,  and  although  he  at- 
tended the  school  in  winter  only,  when 
no  voyages  were  made,  he  knew  more 
on  his  return  than  the  little  peasants, 
who,  dull  and  noisy  as  their  wooden 
shoes,  would  yawn  over  their  alphabet 
for  twelve  months  together. 

Victor  and  Clara  used  to  come  back 
from  the  school  through  the  forest,  and 
it  amused  the  two  children  to  see  the 
wood-cutters  hewing  down  the  trees. 

As  Victor  was  light  and  nimble,  they 
would  get  him  to  climb  to  the  top  of  the 
pines  in  order  to  fasten  the  rope  that 
served  to  pull  them  down.  He  would 
appear  smaller  and  smaller  as  he  clam- 
bered higher  up,  and  when  he  got  to  the 


T8  La  Belle  Mvernaise. 

top,  Clara  would  be  very  frightened. 
But  he  was  fearless,  and  would  some- 
times swing  on  a  branch  purposely  to 
plague  her. 

At  other  times,  they  would  go  to  see 
M,  Maugendre  in  his  wood-yard.  The 
wood-dealer  was  a  thin  man  and  as  dry 
as  a  stick.  He  lived  alone,  away  from 
the  village,  amid  the  forest. 

Kobody  ever  knew  him  to  have  any 
friends;  and  the  curiosity  of  the  village 
had  for  a  long  time  been  balked  by  the 
seclusion  and  reserve  of  the  unknown, 
who  had  come  from  the  farthest  part  of 
the  Nievre  to  set  up  a  wood-yard  away 
from  others. 

For  six  years  he  worked  in  all  weath- 
ers, never  taking  a  holiday,  and  like  a 


Under  Way.  ^9 

very  drudge.  Yet  it  was  supposed  lie 
liad  plenty  of  money,  for  he  did  a  large 
trade,  and  often  went  to  Corbigny  to 
consult  the  notary  about  the  investment 
of  his  savings. 

He  once  told  the  vicar  that  he  was  a 
widower,  but  beyond  this  nothing  was 
known  of  him. 

When  Maugendre  observed  the  chil- 
dren coming  he  used  to  lay  down  his 
saw,  and  leave  his  work  to  have  a  chat 
with  them.  He  took  a  great  liking  for 
Victor,  and  taught  him  to  cut  hulls  of 
boats  out  of  splinters  of  wood. 

He  once  said  to  him: 

"  You  remind  me  so  much  of  a  child 
I  lost." 


80  La  Belle  ISTivernaise. 

Then,  as  if  afraid  he  had  told  too 
much,  he  added: 

"  Oh !  it  is  a  long  time  ago — a  very 
long  time  ago.'' 

Another  day  he  said  to  Louvean : 

"  When  you  get  tired  of  Victor  give 
him  to  me.  I  have  no  heirs,  and  I  will 
deny  rhyself  something  to  send  him  to 
college  in  the  town.  He  shall  pass  ex- 
aminations, and  be  entered  at  the  School 
of  Forestry." 

But  Francis  was  still  in  the  flush  of 
his  good  action,  and  he  declined.  Mau- 
gendre  resolved  to  wait  patiently  until 
the  progressive  increase  of  the  Louveau 
family,  or  some  money  difficult}^,  should 
have  put  the  bargeman  out  of  conceit 
with  adoptions. 


Under  Way.  81 

It  seemed  as  if  Fate  wished  to  grant 
his  desires.  For  one  might  almost  be- 
lieve that  ill-luck  had  embarked  on  board 
the  Belle  Nivernaise  at  the  same  hour  as 
Victor. 

From  that  moment  everything  went 
wrong.  The  wood  did  not  sell  well. 
The  Crew  always  broke  some  limb  on 
the  eve  of  the  unloading.  And  at 
length,  one  fine  day,  just  as  they  were 
setting  out  for  Paris,  mother  Louveau 
fell  ill. 

Francis  nearly  lost  his  senses  amidst 
the  yelling  of  the  little  brats.  He  mis- 
took soups  for  draughts,  and  draughts 
for  soups,  and  so  annoyed  the  sick 
woman  by  his  stupidity,  that  he  had  to 


82  La  Belle  Nivernaise. 

give  up  attending  to  her,  and  let  Victor 
do  it. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life,  the  barge- 
man bought  his  wood  by  himself.  It 
was  in  vain  he  lapped  his  strings  round 
the  trees,  and  took  thirty-six  times  in 
succession  the  same  measure,  for  he 
always  went  wrong  in  his  calculations. 
You  knov/  the  famous  calculation: 

"  I  multiply  by — I  m*ultiply  by  .  .  ." 

It  was  mother  Louveau  that  knew  how 
to  do  that! 

He  executed  his  orders  all  wrong,  set 
out  for  Paris  in  a  very  uneasy  state  of 
mind,  and  fell  in  with  a  dishonest  pur- 
chaser, who  took  advantage  of  the  cir- 
cumstance to  cheat  him. 

He  came  back  to  his  boat  with  a  very 


Under  Way.  83 

full  heart,  sat  down  at  the  foot  of  the 
bed,  and  said  in  a  despairing  tone: 

"My  dear,  you  must  try  to  get  well, 
or  we  shall  be  ruined.'' 

Mother  Louveau  recovered  slowly. 
She  strove  against  ill-fortune,  and  did 
unheard-of  things  to  make  both  ends 
meet. 

If  they  had  something  to  buy  a  new 
boat  with,  they  would  hav^  been  able  to 
get  their  trade  back  again;  but  during 
her  illness  they  had  expended  all  their 
savings,  and  the  profits  were  now  going 
to  fill  up  the  holes  in  the  Belle  Niver- 
naise,  which  was  worn  out. 

Victor  became  a  heavy  burden  for 
them.  He  was  no  longer  a  child  of  four 
years  of  age  that  could  be  dressed  out  of 


84  La  Belle  ]S^ivernaise. 

an  old  jacket,  and  his  food  never  missed. 

He  was  now  twelve  years  of  age,  and 
lie  ate  like  a  man,  although  he  remained 
a  thin,  nervous  child,  such  as  they  could 
not  think  of  requiring  to  handle  the 
boat-hook, — when  the  Crew  had  broken 
any  limb. 

Everything  kept  going  from  bad  to 
worse.  On  their  last  voyage  they  had 
great  difficulty  in  getting  up  the  Seine 
as  far  as  Clamecy.  The  Belle  Nivernaise 
was  letting  in  water  at  every  part,  and 
patching  up  would  no  longer  suffice;  it 
would  be  necessary  to  repair  the  entire 
hull,  or  rather  to  put  the  vessel  aside  to 
be  broken  up,  and  replace  her  by  a  new 
one. 

One  evening  in  March,  on  the  eve  of 


Under  Way.  85 

getting  under  sail  for  Paris,  as  Louveau, 
full  of  care,  was  taking  leave  of  Mau- 
gendre  after  having  settled  his  account 
for  w^ood,  the  timber-merchant  asked 
him  to  come  and  drink  a  bottle  in  his 
house. 

"  I  want  to  talk  with  you,  Francis." 

They  w^ent  into  the  cottage,  and  Mau- , 
gendre  filled  two  glasses  as  they  placed 
themselves  opposite  each  other  at  the 
table. 

"  I  have  not  always  led  a  lonely  life 
such  as  you  see  now,  Louveau.  I  can 
remember  the  time  when  I  had  every- 
thing that  is  necessary  for  happiness;  a 
little  m.oney  and  a  wife  who  loved  me. 
I  have  lost  all — by  my  own  fault." 

The  wood-merchant  stopped;  the  con- 


86  La  Belle  Mvernaise. 

fession  that  was  sticking  in  his  throat 
was  nearly  choking  him. 

"I  have  never  been  a  wicked  man, 
Francis;  but  I  had  a  vice." 

"  You  ? " 

"  I  have  it  still.  I  love  the  '  rhino  ' 
above  everything.  That  has  been  the 
cause  of  my  misfortunes." 

"  How  is  that,  my  dear  Maugendre?  " 

"I  am  going  to  tell  you.  When  we 
were  married  and  had  our  baby,  the  idea 
came  into  my  head  of  sending  my  wife 
to  Paris  to  seek  a  nurse's  place.  That 
pays  well  when  the  husband  is  an  orderly 
man,  and  knows  how  to  manage  his 
house  by  himself.  But  my  wife  was  un- 
willing to  be  separated  from  her  infant. 
She  said  to  me — '  But,  husband,  we  are 


Under  Waj.  8T 

earning  money  enough  as  it  is.  The 
rest  would  be  money  accursed,  ^nd 
would  not  profit  us.  Leave  such  re- 
sources as  these  to  poor  households 
already  burdened  with  children,  and 
spare  me  the  pain  of  leaving  you/  I 
would  not  hear  of  it,  Louveau,  and  I 
compelled  her  to  go.^' 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  Well,  when  my  wife  had  found  a 
situation  she  gave  her  child  into  the 
charge  of  an  old  woman  to  take  it  back 
to  our  place.  She  saw  them  to  the  rail- 
way station,  and  they  have  never  been 
heard  of  since." 

"And  your  wife,  my  dear  Maugen- 
dre  ? " 


88  La  Belle  Xivernaise. 

"  When  this  news  was  told  her,  it 
caused  her  milk  to  turn,  and  she  died/' 

They  were  both  silent,  Louveau 
touched  by  what  he  had  just  heard, 
Maugendre  overcome  by  his  remem- 
brances. The  wood-merchant  spoke  the 
first: 

"  For  my  punishment,  I  am  con- 
demned to  the  existence  I  now  lead.  I 
have  lived  for  twelve  years  apart  from 
every  one.  I  can  endure  it  no  longer. 
I  have  a  dread  of  dying  alone.  If  you 
have  any  pity  for  me,  you  will  give  me 
Victor,  that  he  may  take  for  me  the 
place  of  the  child  I  have  lost." 

Louveau  was  much  embarrassed.  Vic- 
tor was  costing  them  much;  but  if  they 
parted  with  him  at  the  time  he  was  about 


Under  Way.  89 

to  make  himself  useful,  all  the  sacrifices 
that  they  made  would  be  thrown  awaj. 
Maugendre  guessed  his  thoughts : 

"  I  need  not  say,  Francis,  that  if  you 
give  him  to  me,  I  shall  recoup  you  what 
he  has  cost.  It  would,  moreover,  be  a 
good  thing  for  the  lad.  I  can  never  see 
the  forestry  pupils  in  the  wood,  with- 
out saying  to  myself:  ^I  should  have 
been  able  to  make  a  gentleman  of  my 
boy,  like  those  gentlemen.'  Victor  is 
industrious,  and  he  pleases  me.  You 
know  I  shall  treat  him  like  my  own  son. 
Come,  now,  is  it  agreed  ?  " 

When  the  children  had  been  put  to 
bed  in  the  cabin  of  the  Belle  Nivernaise, 
this  matter  was  talked  over.  The  wife 
with  the  head-piece  attempted  to  reason. 


90  La  Belle  Mvernaise. 

"  You  see,  Francis,  we  have  done  for 
that  child  all  that  we  conld.  God 
knows,  one  would  like  to  keep  him,  but 
now  that  there  is  an  opportunity  of  part- 
ing from  him,  without  making  him 
wretched,  we  must  try  to  have  courage." 

Despite  themselves,  their  eyes  turn 
towards  the  bed,  where  Victor  and  Mim- 
ile  are  sleeping  the  deep  and  calm  sleep 
of  childhood. 

"  Poor  little  fellow,"  said  Francis,  in 
a  low  voice.  They  heard  the  river  rip- 
pling along  the  planks,  and  the  occa- 
sional whistle  of  the  railway  engine 
piercing  the  stillness  of  the  night. 

Mother  Louveau  burst  out  in  sobs: 

"  God  help  us,  Francis,  we  will  keep 
him." 


CHAPTER  lY 

LIFE  IS  HAKD 

Victor  was  nearly  fifteen  years  of 
age.  He  had  grown  up  all  at  once;  the 
little  pale-faced  child  had  become  a  stout 
lad,  with  big  shoulders  and  a  quiet  car- 
riage. 

Since  he  first  sailed  on  the  Belle 
Nivernaise,  he  began  to  find  his  way  like 
an  old  bargeman,  knowing  the  clear 
channels,  guessing  the  depths  of  the  wa- 
ter, passing  from  the  handling  of  the 
pole  to  that  of  the  rudder.  Now  he  had 
a  red  waist-band,  and  wore  a  striped  vest 
about  his  hips. 

When  Louveau  gave  up  the  tiller  to 


92  La  Belle  Mvernaise. 

Lim,  Clara,  who  was  growing  a  big  girl, 
would  come  and  knit  beside  him,  much 
taken  by  his  calm  face  and  robust  move- 
ments. 

This  time,  the  passage  from  Corbignj 
to  Paris  had  been  a  hard  one.  The 
Seine,  swollen  by  the  autumn  rains  had 
carried  away  the  weirs,  and  was  rushing 
towards  the  sea  like  a  wild  beast  let  loose. 

The  anxious  bargemen  hurried  on 
with  their  deliveries,  for  the  stream  was 
already  rolling  by  at  the  level  of  the 
quays,  and  messages  sent  from  the  lock 
stations,  hour  after  hour,  brought  bad 
news.  It  was  reported  that  the  tributary 
streams  were  breaking  down  their  banks 
and  overflowing  the  country,  and  that 
the  flood  was  getting  higher  and  higher. 


Life  is  Hard.  96 

The  quays  were  filled  with  a  busy 
crowd,  a  swarm  of  men,  carts  and  horses ; 
while  up  aloft  the  steam-cranes  were 
working  their  huge  arms.  The  wine- 
market  was  already  cleared  out,  and 
drays  were  carrying  away  cases  of  sugar. 
The  mooring-men  were  leaving  their 
cabins;  the  quays  were  getting  empty; 
and  a  file  of  wagons  was  ascending  the 
slope  of  the  incline,  retreating  from  the 
flood  like  an  army  on  the  march. 

The  Louveaus  were  so  hindered  by  the 
rougkness  of  the  water,  and  the  intermis- 
sion of  work  in  the  moonless  nights,  that 
they  despaired  of  delivering  their  wood 
in  time.  Everybody  had  taken  his  share 
of  the  work,  and  they  labored  till  very 
late   in   the   evening,  by   the   light   of 


96  La  Belle  Mvernaise. 

lanterns  and  of  the  gas  lamps  on  the 
quay. 

At  eleven  o'clock,  all  the  cargo  wag 
piled  lip  at  the  foot  of  the  incline;  and, 
as  Dnbac  the  joiner's  cart  did  not  reap- 
pear, they  went  to  bed. 

It  was  a  dreadful  night,  with  mnch 
grinding  together  of  chains,  creaking  of 
planks,  and  bumping  of  boats.  The 
Belle  Nivernaise,  with  her  timbers 
loosened  by  the  shocks,  groaned  like  one 
in  pain. 

It  was  impossible  to  close  an  eye. 
Louvean,  his  wife,  Victor,  and  the  Crew 
rose  up  at  daybreak  and  left  the  chil- 
dren in  bed. 

The  Seine  had  risen  still  higher  dur- 
ing the  night,  and  rough  and  surging 
like  a  sea,  its  green  waters  were  rushing 


Life  is  Hard.  97 

on  under  a  heavy  sky.  On  the  quays 
there  was  no  movement  of  life — on  the 
river  not  a  boat;  nothing  but  the  re- 
mains of  roofs  and  fences  borne  alone: 
in  the  current  of  the  stream.  Beyond 
the  bridges  the  outline  of  ^otre-Dame 
was  shadowed  out  against  the  fog. 

There  was  not  a  moment  to  be  lost, 
for  the  river  had  already  got  over  the 
parapets  of  the  lower  quay,  and  the  lit- 
tle waves  that  lapped  the  ends  of  the 
planks  had  caused  the  stacks  of  wood  to 
tumble  down. 

While  Francis,  mother  Louveau,  and 
Dubac  were  loading  the  cart,  with  the 
water  half-way  up  to  their  knees,  they 
were  startled  by  a  loud  crash  on  one  side 
of  them.       A  lighter  laden  with  mill- 

7 


98  La  Belle  Mvernaise. 

stones  had  parted  its  mooring  chain,  and 
had  come  against  the  quay  and  foun- 
dered, being  split  np  from  stem  to  stern. 
It  sank  with  a  dreadful  noise,  and  a 
strong  eddy  took  its  place. 

They  were  standing  motionless,  im- 
pressed by  this  sudden  wreck,  when  they 
heard  shouts  behind  them.  The  Belle 
Nivernaise,  unmoored  by  the  agitation 
was  leaving  the  quay.  Mother  Louveau 
raised  a  cry: 

"  My  children  !  " 

Victor  had  already  rushed  into  the 
cabin,  and  he  now  reappeared  on  deck 
with  the  little  one  in  his  arms.  Clara 
and  Mimile  followed  him,  and  all 
stretched  out  their  hands  towards  the 
quay. 


Life  is  Hard.  99 

"  Take  them  !  " 

"  A  boat  !  " 

"  A  rope  ! '' 

What  was  to  be  done?  It  was  im- 
possible to  take  all  of  them  to  shore  bj 
swimming.  The  Crew  was  running  from 
one  plank  to  another,  bewildered,  useless. 
They  must  get  alongside  at  any  cost. 

In  presence  of  this  bewildered  man, 
and  of  these  sobbing  little  children,  Vic- 
tor, thus  unexpectedly  made  into  a  cap- 
tain, felt  within  himself  the  energy  that 
was  needed  to  save  them.  He  gave  his 
orders : 

"  Come,  throw  a  cable !     Quick  !  " 

This  was  done  three  times  over,  but 
the  Belle  Nivernaise  was  already  too  far 


100  La  Belle  JSTivernaise. 

from  the  quay,  and  the  cable  fell  into 
the  water. 

Victor  then  ran  to  the  rudder,  and 
they  heard  him  shout: 

"Don't  be  afraid.  I'll  see  after 
them.'' 

And,  in  fact,  by  a  vigorous  movement 
of  the  tiller,  he  brought  the  craft  right, 
for  having  been  taken  by  the  water 
broadside  on,  she  was  drifting  in  the  cur- 
rent. 

On  the  quay,  poor  Louveau  quite  lost 
his  senses,  and  wanted  to  leap  into  the 
water  in  order  to  reach  his  children ;  but 
Dubac  threw  his  arms  round  him,  whilst 
mother  Louveau  covered  her  face  with 
her  hands  to  shut  out  the  dreadful  sight. 

The  Belle  Nivernaise  was  now  keep- 


Life  is  Hard.  101 

ing  in  the  current,  and  shooting  towards 
the  bridge  of  Austerlitz  with  the  veloc- 
ity of  a  tng-boat. 

Composedly  leaning  against  the  tiller 
Victor  steered,  encouraged  the  little 
ones,  and  gave  his  orders  to  the  Crew. 
He  knew  he  was  in  the  right  channel, 
for  he  had  steered  for  the  red  flag  that 
hung  in  the  middle  of  the  centre  arch 
to  show  the  bargemen  the  way. 

But,  good  heavens!  would  there  be 
height  enough  to  pass  through!  He  saw 
the  bridge  approaching  very  quickly. 

"Get  your  boat-hook  ready,  Crew! 
You,  Clara,  don't  leave  the  children." 

He  was  clinging  to  the  rudder,  and 
already  he  felt  the  wind  from  the  arch 
moving  his  hair.     They  are  in  it !     Car- 


102  La  Belle  Mvernaise. 

ried  on  by  her  impetus,  the  Belle  Niver- 
naise  disappeared  under  the  span  with  a 
dreadful  sound,  yet  not  so  fast  but  that 
the  crowd  collected  on  the  bridge  of 
Austerlitz  saw  the  wooden-legged  boat- 
man miss  the  stroke  with  his  boat-hook 
and  fall  flat  down,  whilst  the  lad  at  the 
helm  cried  out: 

"A  grapnel!  a  grapnel  !  '^ 

The  Belle  Nivernaise  was  under  the 
bridge.  In  the  shade  of  the  arch  Victor 
distinctly  observed  the  enormous  rings 
made  fast  to  the  layer  of  piles,  and  the 
joints  of  the  vault  above  his  head,  and 
in  the  distance  the  line  of  other  bridges, 
inclosing  their  pieces  of  sky. 

Then  it  seemed  as  if  there  were  an  en- 
largement  of   the   horizon,    a    dazzling 


Life  is  Hard.  103 

glare  as  when  one  comes  out  of  a  cellar 
into  the  light,  a  sound  of  hurrahs  above 
his  head,  and  the  vision  of  the  cathedral, 
like  a  frigate  anchored  in  the  stream. 

The  boat  abruptly  stopped.  The 
bridgemen  had  succeeded  in  throwing  a 
hook  on  board,  and  Victor  ran  to  the 
mooring-line  and  wound  the  rope  firmly 
round  the  timber-head. 

The  Belle  Nivernaise  was  seen  to  put 
about,  turn  round  on  the  mooring-line, 
and,  obeying  the  new  impulse  that  was 
given  to  her,  slowly  come  alongside  the 
quay  of  the  Toumelle,  with  her  crew  of 
little  children  and  her  captain  of  fifteen 
years. 

Oh !  what  joy  when  they  found  them- 
selves all  assembled  in  the  evening  round 


104:  La  Belle  Nivernaise. 

the  steaming  stew  in  the  cabin  of  the 
boat — this  time  well  anchored,  well 
moored. 

The  little  hero  had  the  place  of  honor 
— the  captain's  seat.  They  had  not 
much  appetite  after  the  experiences  of 
the  morning  with  its  violent  emotions, 
but  their  hearts  were  expanded  as  after 
a  period  of  anguish,  and  they  breathed 
freely. 

There  was  a  wink  across  the  table,  as 
much  as  to  say: 

"  Ha !  if  we  had  taken  him  back  to  the 
police-magistrate's  ? '' 

Louveau  laughed  from  ear  to  ear,  as 
he  cast  his  moistened  eyes  over  his  brood. 
You  would  have  supposed  that  some 
good  luck  had  befallen  them,  that  they 


Life  is  Hard.  105 

had  gained  a  big  prize  in  the  lottery,  or 
that  the  Belle  Nivernaise  had  no  longer 
any  holes  in  her  sides. 

The  bargeman  kept  knocking  Victor 
about  with  punches  in  the  ribs.  It  was 
his  way  of  showing  his  affection.  "  What 
a  chap  Victor  is!  What  a  pull  of  the 
tiller !  Did  you  see  that,  Crew  ?  I  could 
not  have  done  bettter  myself,  he!  hef 
master  as  I  am." 

For  a  fortnight  the  good  fellow  could 
do  nothing  else  but  express  his  admira- 
tion, and  go  along  the  quays  to  describe 
this  pull  of  the  tiller.  "  You  know,  the 
boat  was  drifting.     Then  he  .  .  .  Ah  1  " 

And  he  showed  by  a  gesture  how  it 
was  done. 

In  the  meantime  the  Seine  was  get- 


106  La  Belle  Nivernaise. 

ting  lower,  and  the  time  for  setting  out 
was  again  at  hand.  One  morning,  as 
Victor  and  Louveau  were  pumping  on 
the  deck,  the  postman  brought  a  letter. 

It  had  a  blue  seal  on  the  back.  The 
bargeman  opened  the  letter  with  a  rather 
trembling  hand,  and,  as  he  could  not 
trust  to  his  own  ability  in  reading  more 
than  in  arithmetic,  he  said  to  Victor: 

"  You  spell  that  out  for  me." 

And  Victor  read: 

"office  of  the  commissary  of  police 
^^ISth  Arrondissement 

"  Monsieur  Louveau  (Francis),  master  bargeman, 
is  requested  to  call  at  the  Office  of  the  Commissary 
of  Police  with  as  little  delay  as  possible." 

"Is  that  all  V 
"  That  is  all.'^ 


Life  is  Hard.  107 

"  What  can  he  want  with  me  ?  " 

LouYean  was  away  all  day. 

When  he  came  back  in  the  evening  all 
his  cheerfulness  had  disappeared;  he  was 
gloomy,  cross,  sullen. 

Mother  Lonveaii  could  make  nothing 
of  it;  and  as  the  youngsters  had  gone  to 
play  on  the  deck,  she  asked  him : 

"  Whatever  has  happened  ?  " 

"  I  am  weary  of  it." 

"  What,  of  unloading  ?  " 

"  Ko,  about  Victor." 

And  then  he  told  her  about  his  visit 
to  the  police-magistrate. 

"  You  must  understand  that  the 
woman  who  abandoned  him  was  not  his 
mother." 


108  La  Belle  Nivernaise. 

"No,  really  ?" 

"  She  had  stolen  him." 

"  How  do  they  know  that  ? " 

"  She  herself  confessed  it  to  the 
police-magistrate  before  she  died." 

"  Then  they  told  you  the  name  of  his 
parents  ?  " 

Louveau  gave  a  start. 

"  Why  do  you  think  they  would  tell 
me?" 

"  Well,    because   they   had    sent    for 

JOU." 

Francis  got  vexed. 

"  If  I  knew  it,  you  think,  perhaps,  I 
should  tell  you  !  " 

He  was  quite  red  with  anger,  and  he 
went  out,  slamming  the  door  after  him. 


Life  is  Hard.  109 

Mother  Lonveau  was  overcome  with 
astonishment. 

"  Whatever  is  the  matter  with  him?  '^ 

Yes,  what  could  have  been  the  matter 
with  yon,  Francis.  From  that  time  his 
ways,  his  words,  his  character  were 
qnite  changed.  He  conld  not  eat,  he 
slept  badly,  he  talked  all  night.  He 
even  answered  his  wife  back!  He  fell 
out  with  the  Crew.  He  spoke  harshly 
to  everybody,  and  to  Victor  most  of  all 
When  mother  Louvean,  qnite  amazed, 
asked  him  what  was  the  matter,  he  an- 
swered savagely — 

"  Nothing  at  all.  Do  I  look  as  if  any- 
thing was  the  matter  with  me?  You  are 
all  plotting  against  me." 


110  La  Belle  Nivernaise.  * 

The  poor  woman  got  nothing  for  her 
pains : 

"  Take  my  word  for  it,  he  is  going  out 
of  his  senses/' 

She  thought  he  was  quite  cracked, 
when  one  evening  he  made  a  dreadful 
scene  for  them  about  Maugendre. 

They  were  at  the  end  of  the  voyage, 
and  had  got  nearly  to  Clamecy.  Victor 
and  Clara  were  talking  about  the  school, 
and  the  youth  having  said  that  he  should 
be  glad  to  see  Maugendre  again,  Lou- 
veau  flew  into  a  passion: 

"  Don't  talk  to  me  about  your  Mau- 
gendre. I  want  to  have  nothing  more 
to  do  with  him." 

Mother  Louveau  interposed: 

"  What  has  he  done  to  you  ?  " 


Life  is  Hard.  Ill 

"  He  has  ...  he  has  ...  It  does  not 
matter  to  you.  I  am  the  master,  I  sup- 
pose.'' 

Alas!  He  was  so  much  the  master 
now,  that  instead  of  making  fast  at  Cor- 
bigny,  as  usual,  he  went  two  leagues 
higher  up,  into  the  heart  of  the  forest. 

He  declared  that  Maugendre  thought 
of  nothing  else  than  duping  him  in  all 
their  bargains,  and  that  he  could  do 
business  on  better  terms  with  another 
vendor. 

They  were  now  too  far  from  the  vil- 
lage to  think  of  attending  the  classes, 
and  therefore  Victor  and  Clara  rambled 
through  the  woods  all  day,  gathering 
sticks. 

When  they  were  tired  carrying  their 


112  La  Belle  Mvernaise. 

burden  they  would  put  it  down  beside  a 
ditch,  and  sit  down  on  the  ground  amidst 
the  flowers.  Victor  would  pull  a  book 
out  of  his  pocket,  and  would  get  Clara  to 
read. 

They  liked  to  see  the  sun  peeping 
through  the  branches,  and  throw  a  flick- 
ering light  on  the  page  and  on  their  hair, 
while  about  there  was  the  hum  of  mil- 
lions of  little  creatures,  and  surrounding 
all  reigned  the  silence  of  the  woods. 

When  they  got  late,  they  had  to  re- 
turn very  quickly,  all  along  the  great 
avenue,  barred  by  shadows  of  the  tree 
trunks.  The  mast  of  the  Belle  Niver- 
naise  would  be  visible  in  the  opening  at 
the  end,  as  well  as  the  gleam  of  a  fire 


Life  is  Hard.  113 

througli  the  slight  fog  rising  from  the 
river. 

It  was  Mother  Louveau  cooking,  in 
the  open  air  at  the  margin  of  the  stream, 
over  a  fire  of  waste  rubbish. 

Mimile  would  be  sitting  close  by  her, 
with  his  hair  all  ruffled,  his  shirt  burst- 
ing through  his  breeches,  and  he  would 
be  lovingly  contemplating  the  pot,  while 
his  little  sister  rolled  about  on  the 
ground,  while  Louveau  and  the  Crew 
smoked  their  pipes. 

One  evening,  at  supper  time,  they  saw 
some  one  come  out  of  the  wood  and  ad- 
vance towards  them. 

"Ha!  Maugendre  !" 

It  was  the  timber-merchant.  He 
looked  much   older,  and  much   grayer. 


114  La  Belle  Nivernaise. 

He  had  a  stick  in  his  hand,  and  seemed 
to  talk  with  difficulty. 

He  came  forward  to  Louveau  and 
held  out  his  hand. 

"  Well  J  jou  have  left  me  then,  Fran- 
cis ?  " 

The  bargeman  stammered  out  a  con- 
fused reply. 

"  Oh!  I  am  not  vexed  at  you." 

He  had  so  wearied  a  look  that  mother 
Louveau  was  touched  by  it,  and  with- 
out giving  any  heed  to  her  husband's  bad 
humor,  she  handed  him  a  seat. 

"  You  arc  not  ill,  I  hope,  M.  Maugen- 
dre  V 

"  I  have  got  a  bad  cold." 

He  spoke  slowly,  almost  in*  a  whisper. 
Suffering  had  softened  him.       He  told 


Life  is  Hard.  115 

them  that  he  was  about  to  leave  the 
neighborhood,  to  go  to  live  in  the  dis- 
tant part  of  the  ^N'ievre. 

"  It's  all  done  with.  I  have  given  up 
business.  I  am  now  rich;  I  have  money, 
plenty  of  money.  But  what  is  the  good 
of  it  ?  I  cannot  buy  back  the  happiness 
I  have  lost.'' 

Francis  listened  with  knit  brows. 

Maugendre  continued: 

"  The  older  I  get,  the  more  keenly  do 
I  suffer  from  being  lonely.  Formerly, 
I  used  to  forget  all  when  I  was  working; 
but  now,  I  have  no  longer  any  heart  for 
work.  I  have  lost  interest  in  every- 
thing. So  I  am  going  to  banish  myself; 
that  may  perhaps  give  me  some  distrac- 
tion." 


4.16  La  Belle  Nivernaise. 

And,  in  spite  of  himself,  his  eyes 
turned  towards  the  children.  At  this 
moment  Victor  and  Clara  issued  from 
the  avenue  with  their  load  of  branches, 
and  seeing  Maugendre,  they  threw  down 
their  bundles  and  ran  to  him. 

He  received  them  as  cordially  as  usual, 
and  said  to  Louveau,  who  remained  sul- 
len: 

"Yom  are  a  happy  man  to  have  four 
children.     I  have  none  now." 

And  he  sighed :  "  I  must  not  complain, 
it  is  my  own  fault.'' 

He  rose  up,  and  everybody  did  the 
same. 

"Good-by,  Victor.  Be  industrious, 
and  love  your  parents;  you  ought  to." 

He   had    put    his  hand  on  the  boy's 


Life  is  Hard.  117 

shoulder,  and  was  looking  at  him  fixedly. 

"Ah,  if  I  had  a  child,  he  should  be 
like  him.'^ 

Louveau  opposite  to  him,  with  com- 
pressed lips,  bore  an  expression  that 
seemed  to  say:  "Begone  from  hence.'^ 

Yet  at  the  moment  the  timber-mer- 
chant was  leaving,  Francis  felt  an  im- 
pulse of  sympathy  towards  him,  and  he 
called  him  back,  saying — 

"  Maugendre,  won't  you  take  soup 
with  us  ? '' 

This  was  said  as  if  against  the  grain, 
and  in  a  gruff  tone  of  voice  that  did  not 
encourage  acceptance.  The  old  man 
shook  his  head. 

"  E'o,  I  thank  you,  I  am  not  hungry. 
When  one  is  melancholy,  look  you,  other 


118  La  Belle  Mvernaise. 

people's  happiness  does  not  do  one  nmch 
good." 

And  lie  departed,  bending  over  his 
stick. 

Louveau  did  not  speak  a  word  the 
whole  evening.  He  passed  the  night  in 
walking  up  and  down  the  deck,  and  in 
the  morning  he  went  away  without  say- 
ing a  word  to  any  one. 

He  went  to  the  vicarage,  which  was 
close  to  the  church.  It  was  a  large 
square  building,  with  a  court  in  front 
and  a  kitchen  garden  behind.  Fowls 
were  foraging  at  the  threshold,  and  a 
cow  was  lowing  in  the  grass. 

Louveau  felt  his  heart  lightened  by 
the  resolution  he  had  taken.  As  he 
opened  the  gate,  he  said  to  himself  with 


Life  is  Hard.  119 

a  sigh  of  satisfaction,  that  when  he  came 
out  of  it  again  he  should  be  relieved  of 
his  care. 

He  found  the  vicar  seated  in  his  cool 
dining  room.  The  good  priest  had  fin- 
ished his  breakfast,  and  was  dozing 
lightly  with  his  head  leaning  over  his 
breviary.  Aroused  by  Louveau's  en- 
trance, he  turned  down  the  page,  and 
having  closed  the  book,  he  motioned  to 
the  bargeman,  who  was  twirling  his  cap 
in  his  fingers,  to  sit  down. 

"  Well  now,  Francis,  what  can  I  do  for 
you  ? '' 

He  wanted  advice,  and  he  asked  to  be 
allowed  to  tell  his  story  from  the  begin- 
ning. 

"Because,  as  your  Reverence  knows, 


120  .         La  Belle  Mvemaise. 

I  am  not  very  clever.  I  am  not  an 
eagle,  lie!  he!  as  my  wife  tells  me." 

And  having  put  himself  at  his  ease  by 
this  preamble,  he  told  his  business,  very 
much  out  of  breath,  very  red,  and  all  the 
while  gazing  intently  at  the  peak  of  his 
cap. 

"  Your  Reverence  will  recollect  that 
Maugendre  told  you  he  was  a  widower? 
He  has  been  so  for  the  last  fifteen  years. 
His  wife  went  to  Paris  to  be  a  nurse. 
She  showed  her  child  to  the  doctor,  as 
the  custom  is,  gave  it  the  breast  for  the 
last  time,  and  then  she  intrusted  it  to  a 
meneuse.^^ 

The  priest  interrupted  him. 

"  "What  is  a  meneuse,  Francis  ? '' 

"A   meneuse,   your   Reverence,   is  a 


Life  is  Hard.  121 

woman  who  is  employed  to  take  back 
home  the  children  of  the  wet  nurses. 
She  carries  them  awaj  in  a  creel  or 
basket  like  kittens." 

"  That's  a  queer  trade  !  " 

"  There  are  some  honest  people  that 
carry  it  on,  your  Reverence;  but  mother 
Maugendre  had  fallen  in  with  a  woman 
that  nobody  knew,  a  witch  who  stole 
children  and  let  them  out  to  other  idle 
vagabonds  to  drag  them  about  the  streets 
in  order  to  excite  commiseration." 

"  You  do  not  mean  to  say  that,  Fran- 
cis ?  " 

"  It  is  the  simple  truth,  your  Rever- 
ence. This  wretch  of  a  woman  carried 
off  a  lot  of  children,  and  Maugendre's 
little  one  among  the  rest.     She  kept  him 


122  La  Belle  Nivemaise. 

for  four  years.  She  wanted  to  teach 
him  to  beg;  but  as  he  was  the  son  of  an 
honest  man,  he  refused  to  hold  out  his 
hand.  Thereupon  she  abandoned  him 
in  the  street,  and  then — become  what 
you  can!  But  now,  six  months  ago,  on 
her  deathbed  in  the  hospital,  she  was 
stricken  with  remorse.  I  know  what 
that  is,  your  Reverence,  it  is  devilish 
hard  to  bear.  .  ." 

And  he  turned  his  eyes  up  to  the  ceil- 
ing, poor  man,  as  if  to  call  Heaven  to 
witness  the  truth  of  his  statement. 

"  Then  she  asked  for  the  police-mag- 
istrate and  she  told  him  the  name  of  the 
child.  The  magistrate  has  informed  me. 
It  is  Victor." 

The  vicar  let  his  breviary  fall: 


Life  is  Hard.  123 

"  Is  Victor  Maugendre's  son  ?  ^' 

"He  is." 

The  ecclesiastic  was  taken  all  aback. 
He  muttered  a  phrase  in  which  the  words 
"  poor  child/'  "  finger  of  God  ''  were  dis- 
tinguishable. He  got  up,  walked  about 
the  room,  went  near  the  window,  drank 
a  glass  of  water,  and  ended  by  stopping 
in  front  of  Louveau  with  his  hands  in 
his  waist-band.  He  was  trying  to  recol- 
lect a  sentence  that  would  apply  to  the 
circumstance,  but  as  he  could  not  find 
one,  he  simply  said: 

"Ah,  well,  but  he  must  be  restored  to 
his  father." 

Louveau  started. 

"  That  is  exactly  my  trouble,  your 
Reverence.     For  the  six  months  that  I 


124  La  Belle  Nivernaise. 

have  known  all  this,  I  have  never  had 
the  courage  to  tell  any  one,  not  even  my 
wife.  We  have  denied  ourselves  so 
much  to  bring  up  that  child,  we  have  en- 
dured so  much  poverty  together,  that 
now  I  do  not  know  how  I  can  bring  my- 
self to  part  from  him." 

All  this  was  true,  and  if  Maugendre 
seemed  to  deserve  compassion,  some  pity 
should  also  be  felt  for  poor  Francis. 
Possessed  by  these  contradictory  senti- 
ments, the  vicar  was  perspiring  visibly, 
while  mentally  he  was  requesting  light 
from  on  high.  And  forgetting  that 
Louveau  had  come  to  ask  for  his  advice, 
he  murmured  in  a  subdued  voice : 

"  Come,  now,  Francis,  if  you  were  in 
my  place,  what  would  you  advise  ? " 


Life  is  Hard.  125 

Tlie  bargeman  looked  down. 

"  I  quite  understand,  jour  Eeverence, 
that  Victor  must  be  given  up.  I  felt 
that  the  other  day,  when  Maugendre 
came  upon  us  unexpectedly.  It  cut  me 
to  the  heart  to  see  him  so  old,  so  sad,  and 
so  broken  down.  I  was  as  ashamed  as 
if  I  had  his  money,  stolen  money,  in  my 
pocket.  I  could  no  longer  keep  this 
secret  to  myself,  and  I  have  come  to  tell 
it  you." 

"And  you  have  done  right,  Louveau," 
said  the  vicar,  delighted  at  seeing  the 
bargeman  find  him  a  solution  of  the 
question.  "  It  is  never  too  late  to  repair 
an  error.  I  am  going  with  you  to  Mau- 
gendre's,  and  there  you  will  confess  all 
to  him." 


126  La  Belle  Nivernaise. 

"  To-morrow,  your  Eeverence." 
"  'ROf  Francis,  immediately." 
And  observing  the  poor  fellow's  grief, 
and  the  nervous  twisting  about    of   his 
cap,  he  entreated  in  a  softer  voice: 

"  I  beg  of  you  to  do  it  now,  Louveau, 
whilst  we  are  both  resolved." 


CHAPTEE  y 


maugendre's  ambitions 


A  son!  Maugendre  has  a  son! 

He  is  gazing  at  him  complacently,  as 
he  sits  on  the  opposite  cushion  in  the 
buzz  and  hum  of  the  railway  carriage 
that  is  bearing  them  towards  Xevers. 

It  was  really  an  abduction.  The  old 
man  had  taken  his  son  away,  almost 
without  saying  thank  you,  like  a  rustic 
who  has  won  the  big  prize  in  the  lottery, 
and  runs  straight  off  with  it. 

He  did  not  want  to  leave  his  child 
open  to  the  old  attachments.  He  was 
now  as  greedy  for  affection,  as  he  for- 
merly was  for  gold.     J^o  borrowing,  no 

127 


128  La  Belle  ]NTivemaiso. 

sharing;  but  his  treasure  is  to  be  for 
himself  only,  without  the  peering  eyes 
of  others. 

There  was  a  buzzing  in  Maugendre's 
ears  like  that  of  the  express.  His  head 
was  hot  like  the  locomotive.  But  his 
dreams  were  hastening  on  faster  than 
any  locomotives  or  express  trains,  and 
passing  at  a  dash  over  days,  and  months, 
and  years. 

His  dreams  were  of  a  Victor  dressed 
in  dark-green  faced  with  silver;  a  stu- 
dent of  the  School  of  Forestry!  One 
might  even  say  that  this  student  Mau- 
gendre  had  a  sword  at  his  side,  and  the 
two-cornered  hat  on  his  head,  like  a 
student  of  the  Ecole  Poly  technique — 
for  all  the  schools  and  all  the  uniforms 


Maugendre's  Ambitions.         129 

were     a     little    inixed   in   Maugendre's 
dreams. 

'No  matter!  Embroidery  and  gold 
lace  are  not  spared  by  the  wood-mer- 
chant. He  has  the  "  rhino  "  to  pay  for 
all  that  .  .  .  and  Victor  shall  be  a  gentle- 
man covered  with  gold  lace  from  head  to 
foot. 

Men  will  speak  to  him  with  their  hats 
off. 

Fine  ladies  will  be  madly  in  love  with 
him. 

And,  in  one  corner,  there  wdll  be  an 
old  man  with  horny  hands,  who  will  say, 
bridling  np: 

"  This  is  my  son." 
-  "  Come  now,  my  son." 

"  My  son  "  also  is  dreaming,  witli  his 


130  La  Belle  Nivernaise. 

little  cap  over  his  eyes — until  lie  gets 
the  two-cornered  gold-laced  hat. 

He  would  not  like  his  father  to  see 
him  weeping.  But  it  was  sudden,  that 
separation.  Clara  had  given  him  a  kiss 
that  still  glowed  on  his  cheek.  Old 
Louveau  turned  away,  and  mother  Lou- 
veau  was  very  pale. 

And  Mimile  brought  him  his  por- 
ringer of  soup,  to  console  him.  All! 
even  to  little  Mimile.  Oh!  how  will 
they  live  without  him?  And  how  will 
he  live  without  them?  The  future  stu- 
dent of  the  School  of  Forestry  is  so 
troubled  by  these  thoughts,  that  every 
time  his  father  speaks  to  him,  he  an- 
swers : 

"Yes,  monsieur  Maugendre." 


Maugendre's  Ambitions.        131 

And  he  is  not  jet  at  the  end  of  his 
tribulations,  our  little  bargeman  of  the 
Belle  Nivernaise.  For  it  costs  not  only 
money  to  become  a  gentleman,  bnt  also 
sacrifices  and  sorrows. 

Some  of  these  Victor  is  conscious  of, 
as  the  quick  train  passes  with  a  whistle 
over  the  bridges  above  the  suburbs  of 
jSTevers.  It  seems  to  him  that  he  has 
before  seen  somewhere,  in  a  sad  and  dis- 
tant past,  these  same  narrow  streets,  and 
those  windows  small  as  the  air-holes  of  a 
prison,  wdth  raveled  rags  hanging  out  of 
them. 

Xow  they  have  the  pavement  beneath 
their  feet,  and  round  them  there  is  the 
station  rout,  the  crowd  of  lookers-on,  the 
press  of  people  laden  with  parcels,  the 


132  La  Belle  E'ivernaise. 

roll  of  cabs  and  of  heavy  railway  omni- 
buses, wliicb  travelers,  carrying  rugs  tied 
up  with  straps,  noisily  take  by  assault. 

Victor  and  his  father  go  out  of  the 
station  gates  in  a  carriage.  The  wood- 
merchant  sticks  to  his  idea.  He  must 
have  an  immediate  transformation.  So 
he  takes  his  son  straight  away  to  the  col- 
lege tailor's. 

The  shop  is  new,  the  counters  lustrous, 
and  well-dressed  gentlemen,  like  those 
shown  in  the  colored  engravings  hung  on 
the  wall,  open  the  door  for  the  customers 
with  a  patronizing  smile. 

They  put  before  old  Maugendre  the 
choicest  of  the  fashion  plates,  where  a 
collegian  is  smoking  in  company  with  a 
lady  in  a  riding-habit,  a  gentleman  in  a 


Maugendre's  Ambitions.        133 

complete  hunting  suit,  and  a  bride 
dressed  in  white  satin. 

The  tailor  happens  just  to  have  in 
hand  a  pattern  tunic,  padded  back  and 
frontj  with  square  skirts  and  gilt  but- 
tons. He  displays  it  to  the  wood-mer- 
chant, who  beaming  with  pride,  cries: 

"  In  that,  you  will  look  like  a  soldier." 

A  gentleman  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  with 
a  tape  round  his  neck,  now  comes  up  to 
the  student  Maugendre,  and  takes  the 
measure  of  his  legs,  his  waist,  and  his 
back-bone. 

This  operation  brings  to  the  mind  of 
the  little  bargeman  remembrances  that 
call  the  tears  to  his  eyes!  The  ways  of 
dear  old  Louveau,  the   tempers    of   the 


134:  La  Belle  Xivernaise. 

wife  with  the  head-piece — all  that  has 
he  left  behind  him  forever. 

It  is  all  past  and  gone  now.  The  cor- 
rect young  man  in  the  regulation  uni- 
form, that  Victor  beholds  in  the  big 
looking-glass,  has  nothing  in  common 
with  the  ship-lad  of  the  Belle  Nivernaise. 

The  tailor  with  his  toe  contemptu- 
ously pushes  the  dishonored  boat  gar- 
ments under  his  bench  like  a  bundle  of 
rags. 

Victor  feels  that  he  has  been  made  to 
leave  there  all  his  past  life.  How  much 
is  there  in  that  word  "  leave  "  !  Here 
now  is  he  forbidden  even  to  retain  the 
memory  of  it. 

"  You  must  detach  yourself  from  all 
the  errors  of  your  early  education,"  said 


Maugendre's  Ambitions.        135 

the  Principal  sternly,  without  conceal- 
ing his  distrust. 

And  in  order  to  facilitate  this  regen- 
eration, it  is  decided  that  the  student 
Mangendre  shall  go  out  of  the  college 
only  on  the  first  Sunday  in  each  month. 

Oh  !  how  he  weeps  the  first  night,  at 
the  end  of  the  cold,  dreary  dormitory, 
while  the  other  scholars  are  snoring  on 
their  iron  bedsteads,  and  the  assistant- 
master  is  devouring  a  romance  on  the 
sly,  by  the  glimmer  of  a  night-light. 

How  he  suffers  during  the  hated  hour 
of  recreation,  whilst  his  comrades  hustle 
and  mob  him  ! 

How  weary  he  is  in  the  study,  with 
his  head  bent  over  his  desk,  trembling  at 
the  anger  of  the  usher  as  the  latter,  with 


136  La  Belle  Nivernaise. 

all  his  might,  hits  his  table,  repeating 
ever  the  same  phrase: 

"  Silence  there,  sirs.'' 

That  shrill  voice,  by  stirring  np  in 
Victor  the  bitter  dregs  of  sad  memories, 
blights  his  whole  life. 

It  reminds  him  of  the  dark  days  of  his 
early  childhood,  of  the  crannies  in  the 
Temple  suburb;  of  the  blows,  of  the 
quarrels, — of  all  that  he  had  forgotten. 

He  clung  desperately  to  the  images  of 
Clara  and  the  Belle  Nivernaise,  as  to  the 
one  ray  of  sunshine  amid  the  gloom  of 
his  life. 

This  no  doubt  w^as  the  reason  for  the 
drawings  of  boats  that  the  usher  was  so 
astonished  at  finding  on  every  page  of 
the  student  Maugendre's  books. 


137 


Maiiffendre's  Ambitions.         139 


'to 


Always  the  same  barge,  reproduced  on 
every  leaf  with  the  persistence  of  one 
possessed. 

Sometimes  she  was  slowly  ascending 
the  narrow  path  of  the  margins,  shut  in 
as  if  on  a  canal. 

Sometimes  she  was  wrecked  in  the 
midst  of  a  theorem,  splashing  over  the 
inserted  diagrams  and  the  corollaries  in 
the  small  print. 

Sometimes  she  was  under  full  sail  on 
the  oceans  of  the  maps,  and  on  them  she 
rode  at  ease,  spread  all  her  canvas,  and 
flew  her  flag. 

The  Principal,  tired  of  the  circum- 
stantial reports  made  to  him  on  this  sub- 
ject, at  length  spoke  of  it  to  M.  Maug^n- 
dre,  the  father. 


140  La  Belle  Mvernaise. 

The  wood-Tnercliant  could  not  get 
over  it: 

^'  A  lad  so  manageable  !  " 

^'  He  is  as  obstinate  as  a  donkey." 

"  So  intelligent  !  " 

"  He  cannot  be  taught  anything.'' 

And  nobody  would  understand  that 
the  student  Maugendre  had  learnt  to 
read  amidst  woods  looking  over  Clara's 
shoulder,  and  that  studying  geometry 
under  the  ferule  of  a  bearded  usher  is 
a  very  different  kind  of  thing. 

This  is  the  reason  why  the  student 
Maugendre  goes  down  from  the  "  middle 
school  "  to  the  "  lower  " : — it  is  because 
there  is  a  singular  difference  between 
the  lessons  of  the  magister  at  Corbigny, 
and  those  of  MM.  the  Professors  of  the 


''tin   Lt>  diagonalet  4run  iosangeyie  coui 
droits. 


■  taiS.  aajon.  On  appelle  nyou  loule  droite  qui  va  du 
ccnlrc   i  U  circonfCrtuctv  UA.  Ub   »ont.  cll•^    rayons  ^^^ 


141 


±^^ 


143 


Maugendre's  Ambitions.         145 

College  of  ^N'evers.  A  distance  as  great 
as  between  teaching  in  a  rabbit-skin  cap 
and  teaching  in  an  ermine  hat. 

Maugendre  the  elder  was  in  despair. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  the  Forester  in 
the  two-cornered  hat  was  taking  great 
strides  far  into  the  distance. 

The  father  chides,  he  entreats,  he 
promises. 

"  Do  jon  want  lessons  ?  Would  you 
like  to  have  tntors  ?  You  shall  have  the 
best,  the  most  expensive." 

In  the  meantime,  the  student  Mau- 
gendre is  becoming  a  vexation,  and  the 
"  Quarterly  Reports  "  mercilessly  ex- 
hibit his  faultiness.     For  his  own  part, 

he   is   conscious    of   his   stupidity,    an(? 
10 


146  La  Belle  Mvernaise. 

every  day  he  withdraws  more  and  more 
into  obscurity  and  sadness. 

If  Clara  and  the  rest  could  but  see 
what  has  been  done  with  their  Victor  ! 
How  they  would  come  and  throw  wide 
open  the  doors  of  his  prison  !  How  cor- 
dially they  would  offer  him  a  share  of 
their  last  crust  of  bread,  of  their  last  bit 
of  bedding  ! 

But  they  also  are  unhappy,  poor  peo- 
ple. Things  are  going  from  bad  to 
worse.  The  boat  is  getting  older  and 
older. 

That  Victor  knows  by  Clara's  letters* 
which  from  time  to  time  come  to  him 
with  a  great,  savage  "  seen,"  scrawled  in 
red  pencil  by  the  Principal,  who  hates 
these  interfering  correspondences. 


Maugendre's  Ambitions.         147 

"  Ah  !  when  yon  nsed  to  be  here,"  sav 
these  letters  of  Clara's,  always  tender, 
but  becoming  more  and  more  distressful. 
..."  Ah  !  if  you  were  but  with  us 
now  !  '' 

Was  not  this  as  much  as  to  say  that 
all  used  to  go  on  well  in  those  days,  and 
that  all  would  yet  be  saved  if  Victor 
came  back  ? 

Well,  then,  Victor  will  save  all.  He 
will  buy  a  new  boat.  He  will  console 
Clara.  He  will  bring  back  the  trade. 
He  will  show  them  that  they  have  not 
loved  one  who  is  without  gTatitude,  and 
have  not  succored  one  incapable  of  help- 
ing them. 

But  to  do  this,  he  must  become  a  man. 


148  La  Belle  Mvernaise. 

Money  must  be  earned,  and  for  that,  lie 
must  acquire  knowledge. 

So  Yictor  re-opens  his  books,  and 
turns  over  a  new  leaf. 

^ow  arrows  may  fly,  the  usher  may 
strike  on  his  desk  Avith  all  his  might,  and 
emit  his  parrot  phrase: 

"  Silence  there,  sirs." 

Victor  does  not  lift  his  eyes  from  his 
books.  He  draws  no  more  boats.  He  de- 
spises the  paper  missiles  that  strike  his 
face.     He  works  ...  he  works.  .  .  . 

"  A  letter  for  the  student  Maugen- 
dre." 

This  reminder  of  Clara,  redolent  of 
liberty  and  affection,  was  like  a  blessing 
unexpectedly  coming  to  encourage  him 
in  the  midst  of  his  studies. 


Maugendre's  Ambitions.        149 

Victor  hid  his  head  in  his  desk  to  kiss 
the  'zigzag,  painfully  written  address, 
shaky  as  if  a  constant  heaving  of  the 
boat  rocked  the  table  Clara  was  writing 
on. 

Alas  !  it  was  not  the  heaving  of  the 
boat,  but  the  agitation  of  feeling  that 
had  made  Clara's  hand  tremble. 

"It  is  all  over,  my  dear  Victor;  the 
Belle  Nivernaise  will  never  sail  more. 
She  has  perished,  and  her  destruction  is 
our  ruin.  There  is  this  ugly  notice  on 
her  stern: 

WOOD  TO  SELL. 

FKOM  THE  BKEAKING  UP. 

"People  came  and  calculated  the 
value  of  everything,  from  the   Crew's 


150  La  Belle  Nivernaise. 

boat-hook  to  the  cradle  in  which  my  lit- 
tle sister  was  sleeping.  It  seems  they 
are  going  to  sell  everything,  and  we 
have  nothing  left. 

"  What  will  become  of  us  ?  Mamma 
is  nearly  dying  of  grief,  and  papa  is  so 
changed.  .  .  .'' 

Victor  did  not  finish  the  letter.  The 
words  were  dancing  before  his  eyes;  his 
face  was  flushed,  and  there  was  a  hum- 
ming in  his  ears. 

Ah  !  study  was  now  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. Exhausted  by  work,  grief  and 
fever,  he  was  becoming  delirious. 

He  thought  he  was  drifting  on  the 
open  Seine,  on  the  beautiful  cool  river. 
He  wanted  to  bathe  his  brow  in  the 
stream. 


Maugendre's  Ambitions.        151 

Then  lie  heard  yagnelj  the  sound  of  a 
bell.  Ko  doubt,  some  tug  that  was  pass- 
ing in  the  fog.  Presently  it  was  like  the 
noise  of  many  waters,  and  he  cried : 

"  The  flood  !  the  flood  !  " 

He  began  to  shiver  at  the  thought  of 
the  deep  shadow  under  the  arch  of  the 
bridge ;  and  amid  all  these  visions  he  was 
conscious  of  the  usher's  scared,  hirsute 
countenance  under  the  lamp-shade. 

"  Are  you  ill,  Maugendre  ? '' 

The  student  Maugendre  was  indeed 
ill.  It  is  no  use  the  doctor  shaking  his 
head,  when  the  poor  father,  who  follows 
him  to  the  college  door,  asks  him  in  a 
voice  choked  with  anxiety: 

"  He  is  not  going  to  die,  is  he  V 

Eor  it  is  plain  that  the  doctor  is  not 


152  La  Belle  Mvernaise. 

confident,  at  least  his  gray  hairs  are  not, 
for  they  say  "  no  "  faintly,  as  if  they 
were  afraid  of  committing  themselves. 

'No  mention  now  of  green  coats  or  of 
two-cornered  hats.  It  is  solely  a  matter 
of  saving  the  student  Maugendre's  life. 

The  doctor  told  them  frankly  that  if 
he  should  recover,  they  would  do  well  to 
restore  him  to  his  country  freedom. 

If  he  should  recover  ! 

The  idea  of  losing  the  child  just  re- 
stored to  him  annihilated  all  the  am- 
bitious desires  of  the  rich  father.  It  is 
all  over  with  his  dream,  he  renounces  it 
forever.  He  is  quite  ready  to  bury  the 
student  of  the  School  of  Forestry  with 
his  own  hands.  He  will  nail  up  the 
cofiin,   if   desired.       He   will   wear   no 


jviaugendre's  Ambitions.         153 

mourning  for  him.  Only  but  let  tbe 
other  one  consent  to  live  !  Let  him  but 
speak  to  him,  get  up,  throw  his  arms 
round  his  neck,  and  say: 

"  Be  comforted,  father.  I  am  getting 
well  now." 

And  the  wood-merchant  leant  over 
Victor's  bed. 

It  is  done.  The  old  tree  is  cleft  to 
the  core.  Maugendre's  heart  has  been 
softened. 

"  I  will  let  you  leave  here,  my  lad. 
You  shall  return  to  them,  you  shall  sail 
again.  And  it  will  be  good  enough  for 
me  to  see  you  sometimes  in  passing." 

At  this  time,  the  bell  no  longer  rings 
the  hours  for  recreation,  for  study,  and 
for  meals.     It  is  the  vacation,  and  the 


154  La  Belle  ^N^ivernaise. 

great  college  is  deserted.  'Not  a  sound 
is  heard  save  that  of  the  fountain  in  the 
courtyard,  and  the  sparrows  chirping  on 
the  grassplots.  The  rattle  of  an  occa- 
sional carriage  sounds  dull  and  distant, 
for  they  have  laid  down  straw  in  the 
street. 

It  is  in  the  midst  of  this  silence  and 
this  solitude,  that  the  student  Maugen- 
dre  comes  to  himself  again. 

He  is  surprised  to  find  himself  in  a 
very  white  bed,  surrounded  by  large 
muslin  curtains  that  spread  about  him 
the  seclusion  of  subdued  light  and 
quietude. 

He  would  much  like  to  raise  himself 
up  on  the  pillow,  and  draw  them  apart 
a   little,   to   see   where   he   is;   but   his 


Maugendre's  Ambitions.         155 

strength  is  unequal  to  the  effort,  al- 
though he  feels  himself  most  delight- 
fully refreshed.     So  he  waits. 

But  there  are  voices  whispering  near 
him.  One  would  fancy  there  were  feet 
walking  on  tiptoe  over  the  floor,  and 
even  a  well-known  stumping,  something 
like  the  promenade  of  a  broom-handle 
over  the  boards.  Victor  had  heard  that 
before.  Where  ?  Surely  on  the  deck 
of  the  Belle  Nivernaise.    That's  it  ! 

And  the  patient,  collecting  all  his 
strength,  cries  out  with  a  feeble  voice, 
which  he,  however,  means  for.  a  loud 
one: 

"  Yeho  !  Crew  !  yeho  !  " 

The  curtains  are  withdrawn,  and  in 
the  dazzling  burst  of  light,  he  sees  all 


156  La  Belle  Mvernaise. 

the  dear  ones  he  has  so  often  called  on 
in  his  delirium. 

All  ?  Yes,  all  !  They  are  all  there. 
Clara,  Mangendre,  Lonveau,  mother 
Lonvean,  Mimile,  the  little  sister;  and 
the  scalded  old  heron,  as  thin  as  his  own 
boat-hook,  was  smiling  immensely  his 
silent  smile. 

And  every  arm  is  stretched  towards 
him,  every  head  is  bent,  there  are  kisses 
from  everybody,  smiles,  shakes  of  the 
hand,  questions. 

"  Where  am  I  ?    Why  are  you  here?" 

But  the  doctor's  orders  are  precise, 
and  the  gray  hairs  were  in  downright 
earnest  when  thus  prescribing: 

"  He  must  keep  his  arms  under  the 


Maugendre's  Ambitions.         157 

bed-clothes,  be  quiet,  and  not  get  ex- 
cited." 

And  in  order  to  prevent  his  child  from 
talking,  Mangendre  goes  on  speaking  all 
the  time. 

"Would  you  believe  that  it  is  ten 
days  ago — the  day  you  fell  ill — that  I 
had  just  seen  the  Principal  to  speak  to 
him  about  you  ?  He  told  me  you  were 
making  progress,  and  that  you  were 
working  like  a  machine.  .  .  .  You  may 
imagine  how  pleased  I  was  !  I  asked  to 
see  you,  and  you  were  sent  for,  when  at 
that  moment  your  master  rushed  into 
the  Principal's  study  quite  frightened. 
You  had  just  had  an  attack  of  high 
fever.  I  ran  to  the  infirmary;  you  did 
not  recognize  me,  your  eyes  were  like 


158  La  Belle  Mvernaise. 

tapers,  you  were  in  delirmm  !  Ah  !  my 
dear  lad,  how  ill  you  were  !  I  did  not 
leave  you  for  a  moment.  You  kept  rav- 
ing on.  You  were  talking  about  the 
Belle  Nivernaise,  about  Clara,  about  the 
new  boat,  and  I  know  not  what  else. 
Then  I  recollected  the  letter — Clara's 
letter;  it  had  been  found  in  your  hands, 
and  they  had  given  it  to  me,  and,  for 
the  time,  I  had  forgotten  all  about  it, 
you  know  1  I  drew  it  from  my  pocket, 
I  read  it,  I  shook  my  head,  and  I  said  to 
myself:  ^  Maugendre,  your  disappoint- 
ment must  not  make  you  forget  your 
friends'  trouble.'  Then  I  wrote  to  all 
these  good  people  to  come  and  see  us. 
No  answer.  I  took  advantage  of  a  day 
on  which  you  were  rather  better,  to  go 


Maugendre's  Ambitions.        159 

and  find  them,  and  I  bronglit  them  to 
my  house,  where  they  are  now  living 
and  where  they  will  live,  until  some 
means  of  settling  their  affairs  has  been 
found.     Is  it  not  so,  friend  Louveau  ?  '^ 

Every  one  has  a  tear  in  his  eye,  and, 
on  my  word  ! — so  much  the  worse  for 
the  doctor's  gTay  hairs, — the  two  arms 
come  out  of  the  bed-clothes,  and  Mau- 
gendre  is  embraced  as  he  has  never  been 
before, — the  real  kiss  of  an  affectionate 
child. 

Then,  as  it  is  impossible  to  take  Vic- 
tor home,  they  arrange  their  future  life 
— Clara  will  remain  with  the  patient  in 
order  to  sweeten  his  draughts  and  chat 
with  him;  mother  Louveau  will  go  to 
keep  house;  Francis  shall  go  and  super- 


160  La  Belle  Mvernaise. 

intend  a  building  tliat  the  timber-mer- 
cbant  bas  contracted  for  in  tbe  Grande 
Rue.         V 

As  for  Maugendre,  he  is  going  to 
Clamecy.  He  is  going  to  see  some  ac- 
quaintances who  have  a  large  contract 
for  wood.  These  people  will  be  de- 
lighted to  engage  so  clever  a  bargeman 
as  Louveau. 

'No  !  no  !  No  objections,  no  oppo- 
sition. It  is  an  understood  thing,  quite 
a  simple  matter. 

Certainly  it  is  not  for  Victor  to  ob- 
ject. 

He  is  now  lifted  up  and  rolled  in  his 
big  arm-chair  to  the  window. 

He  is  alone  with  Clara,  in  the  silent 
infirmary. 


Maugendre's  Ambitions.         161 

And  Victor  is  delighted.  He  blesses 
bis  illness.  He  blesses  the  sale  of  the 
Belle  Nivernaise.  He  blesses  all  the 
sales  and  all  the  illnesses  in  the  world. 

"  Do  you  remember,  Clara,  when  I 
used  to  hold  the  tiller,  and  yon  w^ould 
come  and  sit  beside  me,  with  yonr  knit- 
ting ? '' 

Clara  remembered  so  well  that  she 
cast  down  her  eyes,  and  blushed,  and 
both  of  them  were  rather  embarrassed. 

For  now,  he  is  no  longer  the  little  lad 
in  a  red  cap,  whose  feet  could  not  reach 
to  the  deck  when  he  climbed  up  on  the 
tiller,  and  sat  astride  it. 

And  she,  when  she  comes  in  the  morn- 
ing and  takes  off  her  little  shawl,  and 

throws  it  on  the  bed,  appears  quite  a 
11    • 


162  La  Belle  Mvernaise. 

handsome  young  woman;  lier  arms  are 
so  round,  and  lier  waist  is  so  slender. 

"  Come  early,  Clara,  and  stop  as  long 
as  you  can/' 

It  is  so  nice  to  have  breakfast  and  din- 
ner, the  two  together,  near  the  window 
in  the  shade  of  the  white  curtains. 

They  are  reminded  of  their  early 
childhood,  of  the  pap  eaten  at  the  edge 
of  the  bed  with  the  same  spoon.  Ah  ! 
those  memories  of  childhood  ! 

They  flit  about  the  college  infirmary 
like  birds  in  an  aviary.  Iso  doubt  they 
make  their  nest  in  every  corner  of  the 
curtains,  for  each  morning  there  are 
fresh  ones  newly  opened  for  their  flight. 

And  truly,  if  you  heard  their  conver- 
sations about  the  past,  you  would  say 


Maugendre's  Ambitions.        163 


*to 


that  they  were  a  couple  of  octogenarians 
looking  back  only  on  the  distance  be- 
hind them. 

^ow,  is  there  not  a  future,  which  also 
may  have  some  interest  for  them  ? 

Yes,  there  is  such  a  future:  and  it  is 
often  thought  of,  if  it  is  never  men- 
tioned. 

Besides,  it  is  not  absolutely  necessary 
to  use  phrases  in  conversing.  There  is 
a.  certain  way  of  taking  hold  of  a  hand, 
and  of  blushing  at  every  turn,  which 
says  a  great  deal  more  than  words.  Vic- 
tor and  Clara  talk  in  that  language  all 
day  long. 

That  is  probably  the  reason  why  they 
are  so  often  silent.  And  that,  too,  is 
why  the  days  pass  so  quickly  that  the 


164  La  Belle  Mvernaise. 

montli  glides  bj  noiselessly  and  imper- 
ceptibly. 

That  is  the  reason  why  the  doctor  is 
obliged  to  make  his  gray  hairs  bristle 
up,  and  to  turn  his  patient  out  of  the 
infirmary. 

Just  at  this  time,  Maugendre  the  elder 
returns  from  his  journey.  He  finds 
them  all  assembled  in  his  house.  And 
he  cannot  help  smiling,  when  poor  Lou- 
veau  very  anxiously  asks  him: 

"  Well,  will  they  have  anything  to  do 
with  me  down  there  ?  " 

"  Will  they  not,  old  man  ?  .  .  .  They 
wanted  a  master  for  a  new  boat,  and 
they  thanked  me  for  the  gift  I  was  giv- 
ing them." 

Who  can  these  people  be  ?    Old  Lou- 


Maiiffendre's  Ambitions.        165 


■-& 


veau  was  so  delighted  lie  did  not  inquire 
further.  And  everybody  set  off  for 
Clamecy  without  knowing  anything 
more  about  it. 

What  a  pleasure,  when  they  get  to  the 
banks  of  the  canal  ! 

There,  on  the  quay,  a  magnificent 
boat,  adorned  with  flags  from  top  to  bot- 
tom, and  brand  new,  raises  her  polished 
mast  amid  the  green  fields. 

They  are  giving  her  the  last  touch  of 
varnish,  and  the  stern  on  which  the 
name  of  the  craft  is  painted,  remains 
covered  with  gray  canvas. 

A  cry  breaks  from  every  mouth: 

"  What  a  fine  boat  !  " 

Louveau  does  not  believe  his  eyes. 
He  has  a  deuced  queer  feeling  of  smart- 


166  La  Belle  Mvernaise. 

ing  in  the  eyelids,  of  a  splitting  open  of 
liis  month  abont  a  foot  wide,  and  of  a 
shaking  of  his  ear-rings  like  a  couple  of 
salad  paniers. 

"That  is  too  grand !  I  would  not  dare 
undertake  to  steer  a  boat  like  that.  She 
was  never  made  to  sail.  She  should  be 
put  under  a  glass  case." 

Maugendre  had  to  push  him  by  force 
on  the  foot-bridge,  where  the  Crew  was 
making  signals  to  them. 

How  is  this  !  Has  the  Crew  himself 
been  repaired  ?  Yes,  repaired,  refitted, 
caulked  afresh.  He  has  a  boat-hook,  and 
a  wooden  leg,  both  quite  new. 

These  are  the  gift  of  the  contractor,  a 
man  of  intelligence,  who  has  done  the 
thing  well.     As,  for  example,  the  deck 


Maugendre's  Ambitions.        167 

is  of  waxed  wood,  and  is  surrounded  by 
a  handrail.  There  is  a  seat  for  resting 
yourself,  and  an  awning  to  afford  shade 
from  the  sun. 

The  hold  is  big  enough  to  carry  a 
double  cargo.  And  the  cabin! — oh,  the 
cabin  ! 

"  Three  apartments  !  " 

"  A  kitchen  !  " 

"  Mirrors  !  '' 

Louveau  drew  Maugendre  aside  on 
the  deck.  He  was  touched,  shaken  by 
his  feelings — as  were  his  ear-rings.  He 
stammered  out: 

"  Dear  old  Maugendre  .  .  ." 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  You  have  forgotten  one  thing." 

"  Yes  ? " 


168  La  Belle  Nivernaise. 

"  You  have  not  told  me  the  name  of 
the  firm  on  account  of  whom  I  am  to 
sail." 

"  You  want  to  know  ? " 

"Certainly!'' 

"  Well,  then,  on  your  own  account  !  '' 

"  How  ?  .  .  .  but  then  .  .  .  the  boat 

"  Is  yours  !  " 

What  an  event,  my  friends  !  What 
close  pressings  of  breast  to  breast  ! 

It  is  fortunate  that  the  contractor — 
who  is  a  man  of  intelligence — ^had  be- 
thought himself  of  putting  a  seat  upon 
the  deck. 

Louveau  drops  upon  it  like  a  man 
felled  by  a  blow. 


Maugendre's  Ambitions.         169 

"  It  is  impossible.  ...  we  cannot  ac- 
cept." 

Maugendre  has  an  answer  readj  for 
everything : 

"  Come,  now,  yon  are  forgetting  onr 
old  debt,  the  money  you  have  laid  ont 
for  Victor.  Keep  your  mind  easy, 
Francis;  it  is  I  who  owe  you  the  most." 

And  the  two  companions  kissed  each 
other  like  brothers.  JsTo  mistake  this 
time ;  they  wept. 

Assuredly  Maugendre  has  arranged 
everything  to  make  the  surprise  com- 
plete, for  whilst  they  are  embracing  each 
other  on  the  deck,  behold  his  Reverence, 
the  Yicar,  issuing  from  the  wood,  with 
a  band  behind  him  and  a  banner  float- 
ing on  the  wind. 


170  La  Belle  Mvernaise. 

"What  can  this  be  for?  It  is  for  the 
benediction  of  the  boat,  most  certainly. 
All  Clamecj  has  come  in  procession  to 
be  present  at  the  celebration. 

The  banner  is  floating  out  in  the 
breeze. 

And  the  band  is  playing — 

"  Enm, — dnm — diim." 

Every  face  looks  happy,  and  over  all 
there  is  a  bright  sun  that  makes  the  sil- 
ver of  the  cross  and  the  brass  of  the 
musicians'  instruments  flash  again. 

What  a  celebration  !    They  have  just 
taken  away  the  canvas  that  covered  the 
stern;  and  the  name  of  the  boat  shows 
up  in  gold  letters  on  an  azure  ground : 
"  La  Nouvelle  ^N'ivernaise.'' 

Hurrah  for  the  Nouvelle  Nivernaise! 


Maugendre's  Ambitions.        171 

May  stie  liave  as  long  a  life  as  the  old 
one,  and  a  happier  old  age  ! 

The  Yicar  steps  up  to  the  boat.  Be- 
hind him,  the  singers  and  the  musicians 
are  drawn  up  in  a  row,  while  the  banner 
forms  a  background. 

"  Benedicat  Deus.  .  .  ." 

Victor  is  the  godfather,  Clara  the  god- 
mother. The  Yicar  asks  them  to  come 
forward  to  the  edge  of  the  quay  close  to 
himself. 

They  hold  each  other's  hand,  and  are 
bashful,  trembling.  They  confusedly 
stammer  out  the  w^ords  that  the  choir-boy 
whispers  to  them,  whilst  the  Yicar  is 
shaking  the  holy-water  sprinkler  over 
them : 

"  Benedicat  Deus.  .  .  ." 


172  La  Belle  J^ivernaise. 

Would  you  not  have  taken  them  for  a 
young  couple  at  the  altar?  That  thought 
occurs  to  everybody.  Perhaps  it  occurs 
to  themselves,  also,  for  they  dare  not 
look  at  each  other,  and  they  get  more 
and  more  confused  as  the  ceremony  pro- 
ceeds. 

At  length,  it  is  finished.  The  crowd 
retires.  The  Nouvelle  Nivernaise  has 
received  her  benediction. 

But  you  cannot  let  the  musicians  go 
away  like  that,  without  any  refresh- 
ments. 

And,  whilst  Lou^^eau  is  pouring  out 
bumpers  for  the  musicians,  Maugendre, 
winking  at  mother  Louveau,  takes  the 
godfather  and  godmother  by  the  hand 
and  turning  towards  the  Vicar,  asks: 


Maugendre's  Ambitions.        173 

"Here  is  the  baptism  finished,  your 
Reverence;  when  will  the  marriage  como 
off  ?  "  . 

Victor  and  Clara  become  as  red  as 
poppies.  Mimile  and  his  little  sister 
clap  their  hands. 

And,  in  the  midst  of  the  general  en- 
thusiasm, old  Louvean,  very  excited, 
leans  over  his  daughter's  shoulder,  and 
laughing  up  to  his  ears  in  anticipation 
of  his  joke,  the  honest  bargeman  sajs, 
in  a  bantering  tone: 

"Well  now,  Clara,  now's  the  time, 
.  .  .  shall  we  take  Victor  back  to  the 
magistrate's  ? '' 

FINIS. 


